


Not exactly as planned

by TheChampionOfDenerim



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Dammit Anders, Family, Humor, Little bit of angst, M/M, Mpreg, Romance, Unrequited Anders/Hawke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-07-12 12:46:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7104037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheChampionOfDenerim/pseuds/TheChampionOfDenerim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders' love for Hawke is unrequited. Realising the harsh truth that the other mage will never be his, the healer concocts a plan allowing him to live with the situation. However with Hawke being the whirlwind he is, nothing ever goes smoothly.</p><p>(Title changed from "To dream")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which Anders' plan is formed

Garrett Hawke was an incredible specimen of a man, or at least Anders liked to think so. It had been a long time since he had felt a stirring in his heart for another person. Mostly he blamed this on the spirit dwelling inside him. Justice did not approve of love or lust; such things had little meaning and only delayed his desired swiftness. But Anders was not Justice. No matter how finely intertwined they were, part of him still possessed a little of that humanity; the man who craved another's touch and desired sweet saccharine words in the long hours of the night. Seeing Karl again after all these years, after he had been made Tranquil, made him sad to see an old friend hurting but there had been no spark, not anymore. However the first time Anders had lain eyes on Hawke in the dimly lit clinic he had felt his blood course to his cheeks as his heart gave a jerking flutter once more. 

Said dark-haired mage was now leaning low over a table in his library, texts of every descript lying open before him. He moved between the desk and the shelves, occasionally glancing back at one or the other with his hand perched on his chin. From his seat by the fire, Anders shifted. Perhaps if he could move just a little to the right then he would get the perfect view of the man's firm ass. Justice scolded him again but he waved it away. It wasn't like he was at that moment aiding the Mage Rebellion anyway. Across from him Varric coughed into his fist as he placed his empty glass down. Hawke turned round and Anders quickly fixed his expression to one of boredom. 

'Not that this isn't enthralling, Hawke,' the dwarf yawned, 'but are we heading to _The Hanged Man_ or not?' 

'Just a moment.' He smiled and began perusing the dusty tomes once more. 'I just need to find the perfect one.' 

'Why not use that Shartan book you gave him? He seemed interested in it.' 

'Yes but there are a lot of difficult words. I wanted to start Fenris on something easier.' 

'Might I suggest one of Isabela's "friend fictions" then?' 

A chuckle came as the mage turned round. 'That might be just the thing actually.' 

'Glad I could help.' The rogue hopped down from his high-backed chair and wandered over to the table to have a look himself. 'If I may, I would suggest _Dalliance in the Dales_.' 

Hawke pursed his lips and gently shook his head. 'I know a better one.' 

Anders craned his neck just a touch as Hawke returned to the shelves once more, tiptoeing to reach the ridiculously placed highest shelf. His mind reamed as he tried to remember all the dozen or so stories Isabela and Varric had concocted. _Where the lamp is lit_? He frowned trying to remember if that was one of them that contained himself. Proudly Hawke held the book out for Varric to examine. 

The dwarf gave a nod of approval with a small chuckle. 'Really Hawke? You think he'll read _To Minrathous with love_?' 

Hawke gave a slight shrug and took the book back, stowing it in his largest belt pouch. 'You never know. Besides this one has him taking revenge on the Tevinter Magisters, he has to enjoy that right?' 

The dwarf raised an eyebrow. 'If my memory serves me correctly, it also features several hardcore bedroom scenes between the lead elf and a certain Lothering refugee.' 

The mage's cheeks darkened. 

And there it was, the enormous stone wall in the way of Anders' love. Though he outwardly tried not to show it, he sank a little in his seat and his frown deepened. Hawke was categorically one-hundred percent only interested in men, which Anders found quite appealing. It had meant he didn't have to worry about Merrill's naïve cuteness or Isabela's blatantly obvious flirtations attracting him. This, coupled with the fact Hawke never spent time with anyone outside of his family or the immediate group, meant for the first few weeks of their friendship Anders had hoped all avenues were clear for Hawke and he to potentially kindle a romance. That had changed one dark and cold night when the damned lyrium-carved elf had descended the Alienage stairs. On that fated evening Anders had watched as Hawke practically stumbled over every word to the ex-slave, slipping in a not-so-casual line whenever he found the chance. How the mage had smiled to him even when he cursed all who use magic, how his cheeks bore a pinkened blush each time the elf had chosen to glance his way. 

Anders hated it. He hated Fenris. It was bad enough the elf hated all mages and refused to listen to sense about the matter of their needed freedom, but that he had also taken Anders' love interest was too much. The healer had at first contented himself with the assumption that Fenris would be too barbed to allow Hawke - a mage - close, and sooner or later he in turn would tire of chasing the "hard to get" elf. But it hadn't happened. Over the coming months the more time they spent together the more Fenris opened up and the more Hawke became enamoured with him. It was entirely frustrating and completely and utterly- 

_Unfair?_ Justice sneered. 

_Be quiet._ Anders returned. _This has nothing to do with you._

_It has everything to do with me. We are one and the same; do you not remember?_

_Sometimes I wish I couldn't._

Noticing Hawke push Varric out the door with jokingly snapped comments, Anders rose from his seat and began to follow them out. As he closed the Hawke mansion's door behind himself he watched the mage and dwarf begin to descend the Hightown stairs. 

_There's still a chance I could make him love me._

_You are deluding yourself, Anders. Be careful._

Choosing to ignore the painful ache in his chest at the spirit's words, the apostate quickly hurried after his friends. 

###### 

The world seemed rosy around the edges, and to Anders that was just fine. The ale had dulled the pain he felt and had muffled Justice's protests after the third flagon. From sleepily-hooded eyes he watched as Isabela cheated another hand of cards and pushed her winnings towards the young Dalish. Apparently the girl had been swindled earlier that afternoon by some food merchant saying "There's a tax knife-ears have to pay", making her cough up twice what human customers had to. Merrill still had a lot to learn about cities and their inhabitants. Though she wasn't exactly the person Anders would have put with her, he was glad Isabela kept an eye on the she-elf. 

Merrill thanked Isabela profusely, then apologised for thanking her too much and being annoying. Half way through the next bout of " _Ir abelas_ " she began yawning, which prompted the pirate to suggest she take the elf home to bed. The women gone, Varric drained his cup and said something about finishing his novel before bidding the remaining two goodnight. This was how Anders suddenly found himself very much alone with Hawke. He didn't question where Fenris, Sebastian and Aveline were, nor why they'd turned down an offer to drink with them, at that moment all he cared about was Hawke. 

'How's the clinic going?' 

Anders blinked dumbly, realising he was being spoken to. 'Oh, err, it's going great. Well not great really. Templars come knocking every other day now, and the people just seem to get poorer and sicker, but okay other than that I guess.' 

'We have a meeting with the Viscount next week,' Hawke offered helpfully, 'perhaps I can have a word with him about it?' 

'That would be good, thank you.' The healer nodded slowly. His head was swimming from the alcohol. And whilst he was still in mostly in control of himself, it took just about every ounce of concentration to stay focused and watch exactly what he was saying. 'It would also be nice if you came to visit more often.' 

Instantly he shut his mouth. _Well done Anders. You should win an award for subtlety._

Hawke sighed. 'I'm sorry, I've just been so busy. You in the clinic, Merrill in the Alienage, Aveline in the Keep and Uncle in Lowtown. I really don't get around as much as I should; I'm neglecting you all.' 

_Ah he missed it._ Whilst part of him was glad Hawke was apparently oblivious. The other wished he had taken notice; that he'd blinked in surprise, blushed, even quipped that Anders should watch what he said. But no, he was apparently completely blind to any flirtations that weren't half-hidden behind an elf's insults. _Maybe if I try something braver he'll just shrug it off as the ale..._

'I really do wish you would come to see me more.' Anders pressed, leaning a little closer to the man at his side. His brown eyes locked tightly onto the other mage's amber gaze. 'I get lonely without you, Hawke.' 

He frowned a little more, saddened that he'd disappointed a friend. 'I'm sorry, Anders. I'll try to make more time to-' 

He paused, suddenly aware now that Anders was moving in a little closer. The healer flitted a gaze down at Hawke's lips. Another breath and they'd be caressing his own. 

' _Attende tibi, magus. Viam fecisti in tenui glacie._ ' 

Hawke's head snapped to the shadow looming over them. He smiled gently and took hold of those gauntleted talons, guiding Fenris to sit on his other side. The elf, it seemed, was torn between hiding a smile for his intended and glaring daggers at Anders. 

His green eyes chose to focus solely on Hawke. 'I apologise for my lateness, I was... redecorating.' 

'You finally got rid of those bodies in the halls, eh?' He smirked and waved at the serving girl for another round, motioning to Fenris as a sign for a bottle of wine as well. 

'They were beginning to rot, yes.' He nodded once. 'Apparently they were beginning to smell, and become a tripping hazard.' 

'I fall on my ass _one time_...' Hawke rolled his eyes and then returned the elf's fleeting smile. 'Well, what matters now is you're here. I was wondering if after this you wanted to start those reading lessons I promised? I brought a book.' 

'That sounds reasonable.' Fenris gave another half-smile before Anders getting up distracted him. 'Where are you going, mage?' 

'Home.' He grumbled. _Away from you two rubbing my face in this._

'You've been drinking.' Hawke reminded him. 'Do you want us to walk you home?' 

The apostate shook his head. 'No, I'll be fine. Just enjoy yourself.' 

Those final words stung. He had to turn away to hide the pain there. Hawke offered him a goodnight before Anders moved out of the stinking alehouse and into the darkened streets of Lowtown. On cue his feet began to retrace the steps towards the docks, near where the steps to Darktown descended. He inwardly cursed himself for not moving sooner. If he'd tried that kiss just a fraction of a second quicker then Fenris wouldn't have interrupted before it even began. But he also knew it wouldn't have happened either way. The look Hawke had worn was one of surprise and Anders was sure if Fenris hadn't have turned up Hawke would have simply pushed him away before the kiss went ahead. 

His gaze lifted upwards as his boots began to descend the stairs. Above him a thousand stars shone. It seemed the Maker liked to taunt him. He'd been locked in a tower, given to the Wardens, and now was cursed to see his unrequited love wander blindly into another man's arms. For a moment he almost felt Justice stir once more, but he bit down the surge of power. Glowing blue on a darkened stairwell in the middle of the night was not a good idea. 

_If only I'd been able to kiss him, then I'd be content._ He shook his head. _That's a lie. I want all of him._

But there was no piece of the man for him to have. Every ounce of Hawke's body and soul belonged to the elf, and the frustration made Anders want to cry out and beat his fists against something. He had tried many times to move on, to try to forget the mage and his charming wit and honey eyes. But how could he when almost every day the man was parading in front of him? Whether it was asking for help on a quest or just visiting to make sure Anders' was actually eating between his healer's duties, Hawke was there and Anders was forced to look at what he could never have. 

It wasn't long before he arrived in front of the clinic doors, the lamp extinguished. He didn't bother relighting it before he entered. Tonight he wanted to be left alone unless the situation was dire. The makeshift beds were all empty and it seemed the mangled tomcat hadn't tried to wander in. Anders found himself entirely alone in the dark space. At the back of the room he lifted a curtain and slipped into the space that served as his room. With a flick of his hand the candle sputtered to life and he began to undress. 

_You are acting like a woman._ Justice's voice crept in once more now he had begun to sober up. 

_I am not._ The mage lay down on his side and dragged the moth-eaten cloth over himself. _I am in love and hurt, Justice. It's human emotions; you wouldn't understand._

_You are correct, mortal. I do not, and neither should you. We have better things to be spending your time on._

Anders stared at the wall, choosing to not retaliate. He didn't have the energy to waste on fighting with his internal guest. _Even if I were a woman I couldn't woo Hawke. At least a woman can take a piece of a man though. She can bear his children so she has a part of him even if he leaves._

Quickly he sat up and wandered over to the pile of texts on the floor. Repeatedly Justice demanded to know what the mage was planning, but Anders ensured his mental wall was raised. He could not have the spirit interrupting until he was certain, and then until it was complete. Hands and eyes skimmed through page after page, stopping only when he held a stained and crumpled fragment in his hands. 

_This is it._

At first glance Anders had discarded the parchment as meaningless babble, but now he believed it held the key to what he needed. He would never force Hawke to love him, such acts required blood magic and in truth never gained the real love of the intended. But this spell was different. Allegedly copied from some long lost grimoire it detailed a spell so powerful it would be guaranteed to grant the mage performing it a child with their next partner; it held a side-note that even a Warden's taint was powerless to stop it from working. The complication came from two areas. Firstly, the copier had scribbled a note in the heading section naming the spell as "The Dark Ritual", which Anders had not liked the sound of at all. And secondly, the spell required a female to cast it and a male as her partner. 

He scowled, he had forgotten that issue in his excitement. Sitting back on the edge of the bed, he frowned at the page. All spells were simply guidelines for what actually needed to be done. Magic was without such narrowed limitations as only working with specific phrases or intentions. All Anders had to do was tweak the incantation a little, fix it so a man could cast the spell. He was certain if he was able to do so then all he would have to do was convince Hawke. He would require Hawke's love for a single night, only a few moments in fact if he was honest with himself. Then afterwards Anders could retreat from Kirkwall and focus on their child; help it to grow and thrive, and live in the carefree freedom he had never had. The thought of a babe in his arms looking back at him with those amber eyes made Anders look to the page once more. 

_I can do this. The hard part will be persuading Hawke._

###### 

**TRANSLATIONS (non-canon phrases done by Google Translate, so no doubt very poorly).**

**1) _Ir abelas._ = I'm sorry.**

**2) _Attende tibi, magus. Viam fecisti in tenui glacie._ = Watch yourself, mage. You tread on thin ice. (Non canon).**


	2. In which Anders makes his move

Anders had spent days locked away in his clinic - under the guise of helping nurse a quarantined patient - scribbling away and looking through every tome he could find. Justice refused to help or commune with any other spirit on the matter, so Anders was forced to struggle through on his own. Four days later he wiped his brow, accidentally smearing ink across his forehead, and gave a sigh of contentment. He'd done it. Or at least he thought he had. In truth the apostate was not entirely sure what it was he had crafted. It was a haphazard spell by any design; conjoined amalgams of healing, sex and ritualistic magic held together with brief charms made to tap into the Fade for power boosts. It was the least _pretty_ spell Anders had ever written. But it did not need to be pretty. It just needed to work. 

An hour later he stood completely skyclad in the centre of his room, facing a mirror so he could watch for any demonic transfiguration. In the dim candlelight his reflection showed the blue cracks along his shoulder. Pushing the energy down into his gut he managed to suppress the spirit's hold on him, the blue light fading into nothingness. 

_You know not what you meddle with, Anders._

It was too late to stop him now. True Justice could possess him and destroy the parchment, but Anders already had it memorised. Without any more thought he began the spell. What seemed like hours passed as magic poured from his hands, and spiralled around him; dark pulsing tendrils of purple smoke and light. The colour worried him a little. He had never sensed such a potent energy flowing through his veins before. Perhaps it was simply because he was only used to a blue glow or fire or lightning coming from his fingertips. With a curt nod to himself he drew in a deep breath. _Yes, that has to be it._

Over and over Anders muttered the words under his breath, concentrating harder than he ever had before. In his mind he visualised Hawke and himself becoming one, the spell taking effect and his belly growing rounder. The tendrils caressed his temples and his heart, listening to his desired effect. Justice was shouting he was sure, but the voice wouldn't carry over the thrumming of his heartbeat in his ears. His blood coursed hotter and faster until he began to feel faint. 

_Not yet, it's not over... Not yet..._

Biting down on his lip he tried to slow his heart, calm himself and take control of the situation. He could taste the Fade every so often, slipping in and out of his mind like a cool breeze on a sweltering day. For just a moment he thought he heard the soft praise of a old woman in one ear, and the comforting words of a young man in the other. Then at once the spell ended, and Anders collapsed unconscious to the floor. 

###### 

He awoke feeling cold and sore. Groggily pushing himself into a sitting position, Anders glanced around the room. The candles were still burning in their sconces so he couldn't have been out for more than an hour. Justice seemed as strong as ever, overtly complaining that he was a stubborn fool and could have killed the both of them. The healer ignored him and made to crawl towards the mirror. The spirit was far too loud and at that moment Anders half-wished to exorcise him, however painful it would prove to be. A tired-looking blonde stared back from the cracked pane, dark circles under his eyes and limbs shaking from fatigue. Other than that - Anders was pleased to note - nothing seemed out of the ordinary. 

_Faith and Compassion were too lenient on you._ The spirit muttered, and Anders got the impression of him crossing his arms in displeasure. _You could have summoned up Pride and Desire if you were not careful._

_But I didn't, did I?_ He quipped in return, slowly heaving himself to his feet and stumbling over to the bed where his robes lay. _Well, has anything changed?_

_You are the healer, examine yourself. I will have no part in this._

Anders rolled his eyes and slipped his arms into the robe before bringing a palm to his navel. Gently he rubbed in circles, summoning the familiar azure light to his hand. A few seconds of analysis revealed no obvious change in his physiology. He tried not to be disappointed. So instead surmised that perhaps the change happened whilst he was _attending_ Hawke. As Anders moved to lay on the makeshift bed his eyes caught the slip that had been pushed under his door that morning. 

_"Anders,_

_If you have the time we're heading to the Wounded Coast tomorrow._

_Could_ really _use a healer since it's going to be Tal-Vashoth._

_Hope you're alright._

_Hawke._

_P.S. Varric says to eat something, you might die if you get any skinnier."_

It was settled then. Tomorrow he would accompany Hawke, and pray the Maker was looking in his direction. 

###### 

Fenris liked to walk at the back of the group, specifically behind Hawke. Anders knew precisely why the elf did this, as he himself used the same tactic. Unfortunately this meant the pair had to walk side-by-side on any outing together, which caused no end of arguments, fighting and then Hawke or Aveline telling them off like a pair of bickering toddlers. Today, however, Anders was on his best behaviour. He ignored every quip the Tevinter made, responded to his questions with polite phrasing and never once sought to insult him. This led to the warrior more than once looking to Anders questioningly out of the corner of his eye. Fenris was never one to trust easily, and this new behaviour had him feeling out of sorts. Even Isabela glanced back once and raised her eyebrow at the mage, when he commented that perhaps he should tend Fenris' wounds. Hawke, on the other hand, seemed to notice no difference. That or he was simply enjoying the unusual peace and quiet. Varric mused that perhaps it was a bit of both. 

After dispatching the fourth set of Qunari, their leader called to set up camp. While Isabela and Merrill helped Hawke and Varric with the tents, Anders set about making a fire and Fenris slipped off into the hills to hunt nugs and whatever else he could find. At some point Sebastian came back from burying and praying for the dead. He slipped into a seat beside Anders and watched the mage poke at the flames. The healer wrinkled his nose in displeasure when Fenris returned and dropped the skinned and gutted animals by his side. 

'Wow, you did great, Fen.' Hawke beamed, wiping his forehead on his outer robe sleeve. 'We'll eat like kings tonight.' 

'And queens.' Isabela smirked, before glancing back to Merrill still struggling with a tent pole. 'And _hahren_ s.' 

The mage nodded and went to help the youngest elf. 

Sometime later they were fed till they felt sick, and made well again by Anders' magic - potions in Fenris' case. Most retreated to their tents for an early night when the moon began to rise. Anders waited for Fenris to go to bed, but the elf seemed determined not to leave Hawke alone with the other. After three rounds of cards Anders decided the elf was not going to budge. He gave up and crawled off to his own sleeping roll, giving the pair a half-hearted wave goodnight. As he pulled the covers over his chest he decided he would have his chance in the morning, before the elf awoke. Anders couldn't picture Fenris as much of a morning person, not since he had gained his freedom from his master at least.

  


He awoke blurry-eyed to the dawn chorus, hearing someone shuffle outside by the fire-pit. He listened as best he could, and picked up on the deep breathing that was Hawke. Quickly Anders peeked over to find the dwarf smiling in his dreams, muttering sweet nothings to his beloved crossbow. Outside the birds sang and Hawke gave a grunt as he no doubt stretched the tiredness from his muscles. A smirk crossed Anders' lips as he pulled on his robe, choosing to leave it half-fastened across his chest, and crawled outside. 

What greeted him was the last thing Anders' wanted to see. 

Hawke was over by the trees, his back to the tents as he focused on what was before him. The thing turned out to be the elf, pressed against the trunk and groaning as lips traced the white lines on his neck. Anders could feel the magic beneath his skin prickle as the lyrium markings glowed faintly stronger and stronger. Anger and disappointment surged through him, his heart twinging in a painful spasm. Fenris opened his eyes, half-lidded, as if he sensed someone near. His lyrium flared upon seeing the healer stood watching, causing a purr from the mage holding him. With a look of hatred, the elf narrowed his gaze before he moved to kiss Hawke strongly. The other didn't seem to mind and held onto him tighter. 

Thoroughly furious, Anders stormed back into his tent and lay there thinking about all the ways he could kill the damned ex-slave. 

###### 

Seeing Fenris' little jealous display had confirmed to Anders that he would get nowhere with the elf around. Ergo, to convince Hawke into his bedroom he would have to do so when he wasn't around. Which was a lot easier said than done. Lately Fenris was practically fused to Hawke. Whenever Anders came over Hawke would be giving the elf reading lessons, at _The Hanged Man_ Fenris was always there first after having walked Hawke over, even after jobs the warrior escorted the mage everywhere he wished to go. It was clear Fenris did not trust Anders to not try something. To be brutally honest, Anders couldn't blame him. 

The chance to finally get Hawke alone, he found, came when the dark-haired man was doing his rounds of checking up on his friends. Since confronting his former master's apprentice in the caves, Fenris had become suddenly distant. So distant he had practically vanished into thin air. The only reason his friends were certain he was not gone was that his mansion door was barricaded from the inside, and the nobles who served as his neighbours kept sending in reports of loud noises to Aveline. Ordinarily Anders would have jumped at this chance to spend every waking moment he could at Hawke's side. The Maker, however, had different plans. The apostate found himself snowed under with a sudden surge of fever patients, and by the time they were all healed and on their way he was left - he assumed - with a day or so before Fenris' brooding fit peaked and the elf reappeared. 

Anders watched as Hawke moved around the empty clinic, picking bottles up and examining them. The way the candle-flames shone in his inquisitive eyes was more than the healer could handle. He would have to do it now. He could contain himself no longer. In a moment of rash thought, Anders caught hold of the mage's sleeve. Hawke looked to him with a gentle smile. And, Maker, how it made his heart leap. Anders had been practicing how he would do this since the moment he cast the spell, but his nerves made those precious words lost. Instead he was forced to resort to his usual form of chatter. 

'You know, I've been meaning to thank you. Having someone like you making a name for yourself in Kirkwall, it's done a lot for mages.' He paused, gathering himself as well as chiding himself for choosing the damned rebellion as a conversation starter. 'You're the kind of leader we need. To tell the world we won't be punished any longer for our Maker-given gifts.' 

Hawke gave a small shrug, his usual response to any praise. That was another thing Anders liked about him. Ever the hero, but never the gloater. It took everything in him to get his fingers to release the soft cloth of Hawke's sleeve. It was the closest he had been to the other in two months, since he had healed his wounds from a set of Qunari horns; even then he had had Fenris perched behind him, eyes keen as a wolf looking for a slip of a hand or caress of a finger. Now there was no elf watching them. 

The taller man made to go back to his snooping. He picked up a bottle of deathroot and sniffed it before Anders reached out and took hold of his shoulder, turning him to face him. Hawke had the look of a child expecting a scolding, but Anders held only a soft expression for him. One that in truth made him nervous and want to leave as quickly as possible. 

The blonde took a step forward. 'I've tried to hold back. You saw what I almost did to that girl. You've seen what I am. But I'm still a man. Don't expect me to resist forever.' 

Hawke retreated, thinking to cover the awkward situation with another of his sarcastic jokes. 'How long will it take before I drive you mad?' 

That was the moment Hawke realised it was a very, very stupid thing to say. His back pressed against one of the wooden posts, effectively trapping him between beech and Anders. The apostate knew this was his only chance. Hawke could push him away still, and in all likelihood would. But he had to try. This close he could smell Hawke's cologne; some musky scent of burnt woods and spices, something he brewed himself that Varric called "mabari piss". Moving another boot forward, Anders held himself against him and tilted his head up to catch Hawke's mouth with his own. His lips tasted every bit as sweet as Anders had hoped for. But they were stained with the bitter tang of Hawke not returning his kiss, his hands pushing at Anders' chest to remove him. Trying to hold his disappointed tears back, Anders stepped away. 

'If we could die tomorrow, I didn't want it to be without doing that.' He explained to his boots, unable to look Hawke in the eye. The dark-haired mage was already heading for the door, but had paused at the other's voice. 'I thought with Justice... this part of me was over. I can't give you a normal life. If you're with me, we'll be hunted, hated. The whole world will be against us. If your door is open tonight, I will come to you. If not, I'll know you took my warning at last.' 

Hawke was gone through the door by the time Anders looked up. He cursed himself. If he had acted sooner, before that night in the Alienage, Hawke would already have been his. But how could he know that for certain? What if after seeing Fenris, Hawke had broken up with him to be with the elf? Any way Anders looked at it he could only see the two together with no place for him to come between them. Pushing past the rug that served as his bedroom door, Anders sat on the end of the bed. Head in his hands he let his tears fall as his heart ached. Everything was in Hawke's hands now, and that night Anders would make the journey to his door. All he could pray for was that the kiss had sparked something in Hawke, that it had given him the realisation he had other options. 

_Anders... I say this now as a friend. You must stop this, you are only hurting yourself._

_I can't._ He sobbed like a child, curling onto his side and burying his face into the covers. _Not till he tells me to go, Justice._

  


The wait until the sunset came was torture. The healer spent his time pacing his room, or trying - unsuccessfully - to sleep the hours away. When finally the moment came, he donned his green jacket and clutched his staff for protection, making his way through the filthy streets that made up Darktown. As quick as he could manage he picked his way through the alleys and gutters. Twice he stopped to press his back against an alley-mouth, hearing the familiar clank of Templar armour on patrol. Thankfully he avoided all prying eyes and made it safely to Hightown. The lights of Hawke's mansion greeted him from the steps, a beacon on that cold night. Only the upper windows were lit, meaning all were in bed save the Lothering mage. 

At the door Anders steeled himself, hand shaking as it reached out for the latch. It lifted and the door pushed inwards. 

_Andraste's blessed tits!_

_I must confess, Anders, I cannot believe you were correct._

_Neither can I._

Quietly, so as not to wake Hawke's servants or mother, Anders tiptoed up the stairs to the bedroom. His mind clouded with fantasies about what the next few hours would hold for him. Would he find Hawke dozing gently with a book, having rested his eyes just a moment too long? Or perhaps the man was waiting for him alert, robes pulled open with a "come hither" smirk. The image made Anders' knees quake and he had to hold himself on the banister a moment. 

It was at that moment a noise alerted him to the Hawke's bedroom door. From underneath a light streamed, noting the fireplace was still lit. Anders continued upwards until he could press his ear against the door. The sound of Hawke's ragged breath came from within. He smirked as he felt himself react to the show the other mage was putting on for him. In his mind he could see Hawke on the other side of the door, sat upon the bed, waiting for the apostate to join him, beckoning him with sounds alone. The healer had never suspected the other had such a lewd side to his personality. 

' _Magis! Placet magis, Hawke!_ ' 

'You-you sure? I don't want to-' 

'Yes...' A moan followed. 

He came away from the door and was out of the mansion before Justice could dare to say a thing. But for once the spirit held his tongue as his vessel wound his way back to his clinic like Meredith was on his heels. There were no words that could heal the mage's heart; he would simply have to allow time and patience to mend it. The streets seemed darker than ever on his return, and Anders truly did not care if the Templars caught him and strung him from the Gallows as a warning to other apostates. Right now he wanted to cry, and drink _The Hanged Man_ 's terrible ale, and punch Fenris in his face that Hawke deemed so attractive. To make matters worse he didn't even have a cat to curl up with since his last one was run off by the starving populace during the fever epidemic. Not for the first time in his life, Anders felt he had reached the lowest point he could. 

Little did the mage realise the situation was about to get a lot worse. 

###### 

**TRANSLATIONS (non-canon phrases done by Google Translate, so no doubt very poorly).**

**1) _Hahren._ = The name used for an elder/leader of a clan of elves.**

**2) _Magis! Placet magis, Hawke!_ = More! Please more, Hawke! (Non canon). **


	3. In which things get a whole lot worse

He wanted to go back. He wanted to say something, to do something; anything that might fix the mess he had made. But nothing could, and he knew that. In the deepest part of his heart he knew it was better to stay away, to let Hawke try to be happier with someone else. _He does not need someone broken._ The thought resounded in his mind whenever he almost summoned the courage to head to the mansion, so much so he would instantly lose his nerve and retreat to his safe haven once more. It was what was best for Hawke, he was certain. 

To make it easier on the mage he stayed away, from drinking sessions and from Hawke's little "adventures". Locking himself away in the darkness of his dwelling he wallowed in his melancholy for weeks. He didn't eat and he didn't answer the door, no matter who knocked or what excuse they gave. Some time after the second week only Varric came to check on him. Each time he turned the dwarf away with a "Please, just leave me be", and the rogue would leave a basket of food by the door and return that he'd be back the next morning. He tried drinking but nothing would stave the thoughts and waking nightmares. It didn't help that he couldn't actually keep the alcohol down. For half an hour, if he was lucky, it would sit in his stomach but then his insides would cramp till he brought up every last drop into the sink. Food lost its appeal as well. It went down fine the rare occasions he remembered to eat something, but afterwards he would feel so uncomfortable it was easier to just bring it up again. It didn't matter anyway. In truth he wasn't sure why he was bothering to try and keep existing. He had ruined it and couldn't have Hawke. If there was no Hawke, then there was no point in living. 

Hawke had stayed away. This he completely expected, after all if their roles were reversed he doubted he would want to see the mage. _No, that's a lie and you know it._ That at least was the truth. There would never be a moment he would not want to see Hawke. The thought of Hawke hurt by him, angry with him, was more agonising than any of the maltreatment he had had in his life. By the fifth week he was feeling so low he considered the thought that he would freely walk back into shackles if it meant Hawke would smile at him one last time. Perhaps those who took him in would do him the honour of wiping his mind, so he no longer knew love or the bitter sting of having lost it. Then he dismissed the idea as ridiculous, because Hawke would be even more livid with him for giving up all he had fought for, no matter how much he didn't want it anymore. 

Perhaps that was why he tried to eat, why each day he heaved himself out of bed and washed himself and wore clothes though he knew he would not step outside his own four walls. Despite that he knew he would not see him, every waking thought was of Hawke, every dream and nightmare was of him too. There was no reprieve from the onslaught of his emotions, and when he was too tired to cry any more his body would slip back into another fevered dream of the dark-haired man with amber eyes. 

It was the sixth week when he finally seceded and accepted that he needed help. His body had begun to cramp sporadically, causing him to vomit even when he hadn't eaten. If he was to live - to be able to find any redemption in Hawke's eyes - then he needed someone to help him. Perhaps once he was feeling well again he could find some way to make it up to Hawke, and be involved in his life once more as a friend. 

  


Feeling like the Fade had been pulled through his innards, he looked up from the mess in the sink. He had yet to bathe that day since the waves of nausea had been washing over him before he even awoke, so his hair was slick with sweat and clinging to the side of his face and neck. Calloused hands clutched weakly at the stonework, just about the only thing keeping him upright. That was the morning he concluded that when Varric knocked, he would open the door and ask him for help. On cue, as he hurled another lot of his stomach contents into the basin, there was a rapping at the from outside. 

Pulling himself away from the comforting grip on the sink-edge was more difficult than he imagined it would be. The only thought that managed to make him move was that if he wasn't fast enough, Varric would leave and he'd be stranded again till the next morning, because he was not going outside without assistance. In this state he could not walk more than a few paces, let alone lift his weapon and fight off cutpurses. It took him longer than he'd have liked to stumble towards the front door. He near fell, bare feet slipping on the stone, but managed to right himself at the last moment and thump against the door as he landed. 

'You ok in there?' Came a call through the thick barrier. 

'F-fine.' He groaned, heaving himself from the wood and standing straight. With a tug he pulled back the bolt and opened the door. 

'Fen, you look like you're about to drop dead.' 

At that moment he thought he would. It was Hawke, not Varric who stood facing him. From the gained length of his beard Fenris guessed the mage hadn't been taking too much notice of his personal grooming beyond bathing, but other than that he seemed well. His skin was without wounds, and he didn't seem ill. This, at least, make him feel a little better. _Aveline has kept him safe. I must thank her._ Still it didn't help that the mere sight of the man made his knees shake. Ordinarily Hawke's appearance or his voice was enough to set the elf's heart racing. This time it was something else. It was that there was no rage in his eyes, no scowl marring his striking features. Hawke looked at him as he had every day since they met, with open kindness and - more than often - concern for his wellbeing. A pale hand came up and caught his chin. Fenris caught his breath. 

His voice lowered, brow creased as he focused intently on the face before him. 'Fenris, be honest with me. Have you been eating?' 

'I-' He closed his mouth, not wanting to lie. Not when things seemed to be so... normal. 

'Maker, Fen.' 

With that the mage grabbed his hand and pulled him inside again, kicking the front door shut with his boot. Numb, Fenris allowed himself to be led back through to the kitchen. Realising all too late to be embarrased about the state of the mansion. Months ago Hawke had helped him scrub the place clean, worried the elf would die of infections or that the guard would come calling when yet another noble complained about the smell of rotting flesh. The place had once again fallen into a bit of a midden since he'd locked himself away. Varric's half-eaten food parcels rotting on the counter in the corner, and dirty plates thrown hastily out of the sink on the side. Hawke seemed not to notice, he was much more preoccupied looking for food that hadn't gone sour. As he passed the sink he wrinkled his nose at the stench of fresh vomit. Heat rose to the elf's cheeks. 

'I apologise.' He intoned to the floor. 'I am not well at present.' 

Hawke waved away his embarrassment and poured water down the drain from a bucket on the floor. That done, he set about preparing food from a basket Fenris hadn't seen him carrying. He didn't speak as he prepped, choosing instead to focus entirely on what he was doing. It made the warrior feel a little out of sorts, so he chose to perch on the edge of the furthest counter and watch. It wasn't long before the other was before him. On a wooden plate he carried cut meats and slices of fresh, warm bread. Fenris had to admit they smelt good, and at once his mouth began to water. He still wasn't sure if Hawke was completely okay with him, but the mage was in his presence. For now it was enough for his appetite to pick up again. 

He ate in silence. Lyrium-lined fingers delicately picking apart the food into more manageable pieces. Hawke watched him like - well - a hawk; ensuring every mouthful was chewed and swallowed, not put back on the plate or dropped on the floor when the elf thought he wasn't looking. In truth Fenris didn't want to waste the food. His nibbles soon became proper bites, and he had to stop himself at one point from simply tearing into the bread with his teeth and scarfing it down. As he chewed he began to count back the days and noted the number of weeks he'd been practically starving himself. It was no wonder that now he felt able to eat his body was demanding more than he could politely consume. He stopped at one point, leaving two slices of bread and a slab of beef. Hawke raised one eyebrow, unimpressed. 

'Fenris, I'm not letting you stop till you eat everything on your plate.' 

'You are not my mother, Hawke.' The elf retorted, feeling the tips of his long ears burn. It was touching having Hawke care for him again, and in truth he did want to eat it all, but pride stopped him. He would not have the mage considering him a glutton. 

'Someone has to be since, evidently, you can't be left on your own to take care of yourself.' 

He had him there. So Fenris finished everything and only then did Hawke's expression relax. He looked tired the elf noticed now the facade was gone. The guilt came washing over him once more, and his stomach turned. He pressed a fist against his mouth and closed his eyes tightly, willing away the ebbs and flows of nausea. Though he wore only leggings and a loose shirt everything seemed to constrict him and contort over his lithe frame. 

_Do not be sick. Do not be sick. Do not waste his gift._

'Fen.' He opened his eyes to see Hawke had shifted closer, removing the plate from his lap he positioned himself between the elf's legs. One hand cupped Fenris' fist whilst the other fell gently onto the one resting on his knee. After a moment he did not move nor show any signs of disliking it, so Hawke pressed on. 'How long have you been like this?' 

He closed his eyes again. 'Since I left.' 

There was a rustling sound as Hawke shook his head. 'You've been torturing yourself, haven't you?' He made no reply, but they both knew it. 'Fen, I'll tell you now as I told you then. I love you, and whatever help you need I'm here for you. So we were a little rash and got carried away...' Fenris slowly opened his eyes, scared of the expression that would greet him. He was surprised to find Hawke was blushing a little and he returned it. 'And, I won't lie, I do wish you had stayed. But even still, I wouldn't trade that night for anything. I get it that you don't want to talk about it, that's why I stayed away when you didn't come back after a few days. But I want you to know I won't force this. I just want to be with you, Fen. I don't care if we never have sex again. I just...' Their eyes met. Amber and green heated by love and cooled by lingering pain. 'I still want to be by your side.' 

Fenris was dreaming, he was fairly certain of it. There was no way he had awoken that morning, emptied his stomach and then found Hawke at his door, proclaiming he still loved him and wanted to be with him. He expected to wake up or for a nightmare to descend as Danarius walked in and Hawke was tossed a bag of gold. But there was no waking and no malevolent Magister. Simply Hawke and he, in his small dirty kitchen. Gingerly, Hawke pulled Fenris' fist away from his face, leaned over and pressed his lips to the elf's. It was chaste and lasted only for a few seconds, just long enough for him to affirm his statement without seeming to demand more. 

'I do not deserve you.' Fenris looked away, but his face was gently turned back to Hawke. 

'Don't say that.' He smiled before letting it slip once more into a concerned frown. 'And please, Fen, start eating again. I couldn't bear it if you starved to death.' 

He nodded slowly. 'I believe I have found reason once more. But I cannot assist you till I am at full strength. Currently I am not at my best.' 

'You mentioned you were sick?' Hawke glanced at the sink out of the corner of his eye. 

'Yes. It began last week.' He sighed and allowed himself to let Hawke rest both hands rest on his. 'At first it was only when I ate, and now it is... sporadic.' 

'Have you been drinking?' 

He shook his head, white locks tossing this way and that. Hawke felt the desire to stroke the elf's hair rise within him, but let it go. He didn't want to push Fenris too far. Holding hands was enough to comfort him, he hoped. 

'Since-' He paused suddenly, a wince almost, then took a deep breath. 'Since then, I haven't been able to. A single drop has me relieving my stomach.' 

Hawke traced the lyrium line down Fenris' thumb with his own. 'I wonder if my magic has-' 

'You have not hurt me.' He said it sharply, cutting all idea of Hawke blaming himself out of the equation. 'I do not think it is your magic, or my lyrium. You have healed me before.' 

Gently Hawke nodded in thought. 'It might be an idea to get Anders to look you over.' 

'No.' 

'Fen,' the mage raised an eyebrow in question, 'you could be dying.' 

'I _will_ die before I let _him_ touch me, magic or no.' His lyrium glowed a little, soft yet threatening. It reminded Hawke of a dog raising its hackles. 'I would rather you do it.' 

The mage shook his head in disbelief. 'You know I'm not as good a healer as Anders is. And this could be serious, Fen. I can fix grazes, cuts, a broken bone maybe. But for something like an ailment we need him.' 

For a moment Fenris considered beginning a calmly voiced tirade about the million reasons why he wouldn't let Anders step foot inside the mansion, however at that precise moment his stomach gave an uneasy lurch that had him almost push Hawke aside and dart to the sink again. The elf sighed in defeat when the cramping faded to a manageable level. As he nodded slowly, Hawke heaved Fenris down from the counter and watched him move to sit at the small table. 

'I'll be back within the hour.' He promised. 'Try and stay awake till then.' 

Glumly Fenris nodded, feeling a little peeved since sleep was exactly what was calling him at that moment. 

###### 

Anders, as it happened, was in the middle of brewing elfroot potions when Hawke hammered at the clinic door. With a sigh he put down the two vials he was mixing and made his way over, knowing only too well who made that type of ruckus. 

Since Fenris' newest disappearance Anders had waited a sensible amount of time, and then approached the subject of love to Hawke once more. It had not gone well. Though the mage hadn't shouted at him, or demanded Anders never be in his sight again, the healer was firmly told that Hawke did not return his feelings, and to move on. It had left a bitter taste in Anders' mouth, knowing that even with the elf out of the way Hawke was not in the slightest bit interested. He was beginning to remember why the mages in the Circle never bothered with something as trifle as love. 

Still he played the part of healer to Hawke and his friends, and he pretended the incident hadn't affected him in the slightest. Deep within him Justice wound a little tighter to his soul, and during his free hours he threw his all back into the Mage Rebellion. It would only be a matter of time now till he found something big, something that would bring an end to this eternity of oppression and meaningless promises of freedom and equality. 

The hammering continued and one of his patients awoke, blearily rubbing a fist against his eye. Anders motioned for him to go back to sleep and opened the door. He was met with Hawke, looking like he had run from the Sundermount with an Archdemon on his tail. On instinct Anders reached for his staff, then remembered he had left it leant against his alchemy table. With a flick of his wrist he summoned fire to his hand. 

'Hawke, move aside. Where are they?' 

'J... Just me.' He panted, hands on his knees as he bent to gather breath. When he had done so, he righted himself and gave a sigh of relief. 'Sorry about that. I really must work out more.' 

'True, it would benefit your health.' The healer quipped and dismissed the flames with a clenching of his fist. 'Now Hawke, why are you here before noon and acting like Meredith finally realised you're an apostate?' 

The mage blinked in surprise. 'She still hasn't figured it out?' 

'Your point, Hawke?' He pressed. 

'Right, right. Sorry.' He drew in a breath again, this time trying to ease himself for the monsoon of rage that was coming. 'I need you to come with me to Hightown. Someone is sick and they need-' 

'No.' 

Hawke instantly deflated. 'Oh come on, Anders. You don't even know-' 

'You were pussy-footing around the issue, making it obvious you were considering how to get me to agree. All those signs point out it's Fenris you want me to look at, Hawke, and I refuse.' The mage frowned and crossed his arms. 'I won't help him after the way he's been treating you.' 

'Anders, he was scared and confused. Fenris has never been in a situation like this before; he has every right to have doubts and be worried after the way he's been hurt.' Hawke could feel his temperature rising a little, one of the signs his defensiveness was coming into play. 'And right now he could be dying because he got sick and his emotional pain is so great he felt he couldn't come to us for help. I sat with you and let you talk about Karl for hours after that night in the Chantry, just as Isabela comforted Merrill when her clan cast her out and Aveline drank with Varric after Bartrand's betrayal and how Fenris comforted me after Car...' 

His voice hung in the air, heavy as tears formed in Hawke's eyes. The mage sighed, wiping them away as he swallowed hard. 'I'm just saying we're all friends, Anders. We need to be there for each other because, Andraste knows, the Maker seems to have a sick sense of humour with all of us.' 

Slowly the healer nodded. He glanced back to ensure all his patients were sleeping soundly, then followed Hawke outside. 

'Take me to him.' 

###### 

'Hawke, I am not invalid.' 

'I am aware of that Fen, but you did slip twice on the stairs just now.' 

In his arms the elf huffed, but settled remarkably quickly into resting his cheek against the mage's chest. Hawke smiled down at the soft brooding expression. If Fenris had been a woman he would have accusing him of pouting. But the elf did not pout. No, a warrior broods. Anders was already upstairs in the room Fenris chose to use as a bedroom. The area glowed with a soft blue light as he warmed up his magic, allowing it to fill the space with disinfecting and cleansing properties. It made Fenris feel uneasy, his lyrium glowing more as he approached the apostate. He wanted to bolt from the room, terrified of those glowing hands connecting with his skin. But there in Hawke's arms he felt a little reassured, enough to quash thoughts of fleeing and grip tightly to the man's shoulder. 

Hawke deposited the elf gently onto the bed, then perched himself at his feet. He gently stroked his ankle, soothing him till Anders motioned for Hawke to remove himself. 

'I'm sorry, but your touching him will contaminate my examination.' The blonde explained before turning to look the elf in the eye. 'I know this will be difficult for you, but you need to remain as still as possible. Any increase in heart-rate or blood pressure may throw my deductions off.' 

He didn't say anything, but Fenris gave a curt nod and closed his eyes. 

Anders began by holding his hands over the elf's face, slowly working his way down to his ankles and back up again. The burning feeling was more than unpleasant. His lyrium shone brighter wherever Anders' palms cast over, leaving a sensation something akin to having a heated rod rolled over the flesh. Still he bore the pain, biting down on his lip till a trickle of red rolled across his cheek. The wound was gone with the apostate ran his hands over his head once more. After a gruelling few minutes Anders seemed to focus his search over Fenris' middle; fingers moving in circles over his stomach, then his liver, next his kidneys and then down to his pelvis. 

The glowing stopped a moment. 'Fenris, I need to undress you down to your smalls.' 

'No.' 

'Fine. Will _you_ please remove your clothes?' 

The warrior was thinking of repeating his earlier answer but stopped upon opening his eyes and seeing the raised eyebrow of Hawke. With a grunt he sat up and did as the healer bade. Shirt and leggings tossed aside he lay down and Anders began his analysis once more. Again the search was centred over the elf's torso. Hawke grew worried. He had heard of sicknesses occurring in the main organs that could cause a slow and agonising end; he also knew that the toxins of alcohol could poison the liver, and of sudden ruptures that could explode a strange organ known as the appendix. All of these horrid images amalgamated into seeing his love's face, twisted in agony as he lay weak and dying in his arms. 

_Anders has to know what's wrong. Please Maker let us be able to help him!_

The sudden loss of light made Hawke look up and Fenris open his eyes. Anders stepped back a sheen of sweat on his face and hands. He picked up a wet rag from the table and mopped his brow. The two before him waited. 

'Well?' Hawke was impatient as ever. Something Fenris was thankful for, and Anders was not. 

The healer placed the rag back on the side and motioned for the elf to redress. He didn't move, too intent on not providing the mage any distractions. Realising he was going to have to say something, Anders cleared is throat. 

'Nothing is wrong.' 

' _Vishante kaffas._ ' Fenris hissed. 

'I'm not lying.' Anders held up his hands to show he meant no ill. 'You're not sick.' 

'What do you mean he isn't sick?' Hawke frowned, looking from one to the other. 'Anders, he threw his guts up before I got here this morning. I mean, _look at him_. He's paling, shivering and weak as a kitten.' 

'Continue to endeavour making me sound a man of strength, Hawke.' The elf quipped, holding back another dose of bile. By this point it was his sheer will keeping the meal from earlier down. 

'Sorry love, you know what I mean.' The tips of the elf's ears pinkened at the pet-name, making Hawke smile a little. Still he knew he had to hold back. He couldn't rush Fenris into this, not after he had finally managed to get the elf back on speaking terms with him. 

'I mean,' Anders sighed, 'that Fenris is not ill. There is no malady within him; no disease, no inflammations, no ruptured organs. He is not sick.' 

'Then allow me to change the question.' Fenris snapped, narrowing his eyes. 'Why am I being sick?' 

The healer bit his bottom lip and half-turned, muttered something. 

'I didn't quite catch that, mage.' 

Anders faced him once more, deadly serious and the fires of the Fade burning in his gaze. 'Fenris, you're with child.' 

###### 

**TRANSLATIONS (non-canon phrases done by Google Translate, so no doubt very poorly).**

**1) _Vishante Kaffas._ = A curse referring to something distastefully said, literally "You sh*t on my tongue".**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note:  
> Just wanted to put this here, _just_ in case. Under NO circumstances should a woman attempt to drink alcohol when pregnant. Here Fenris was unaware at the time, and my made-up magic means his body protects him from harmful substances he ingests. Ordinarily if a pregnant woman ingests alcohol she will not automatically vomit it back up and it will cause damage to the baby. Ok, safety warning over ^.^


	4. In which new wounds are opened and old wounds heal

In the Free March city of Kirkwall, in the Hightown district, there was a mansion once owned by a Tevinter merchant. A mansion which later came under the care of a Magister, and was swiftly abandoned one autumn night. In that grand home, since fallen into some level of disrepair, was a room in which two men and an elf faced one another in complete silence. The blonde man had a furrowed brow, his young face etched with irritation, pock-marked here and there with a tinge of worry as his doe eyes darted between the others. The dark-haired man had eyes only for the elf; nothing but concern in his gaze as his tongue gently wetted his dry lips. The elf in question was sat upon the bed, dressed in his small clothes. His mouth gaped a little as if each time his mind formed a sentence, he forgot what words were. The silence pressed on. Like a thick blanket of snow it muffled the crackle of the fire, the sound of their breathing, the echoes of the drunken brawl that was taking place outside. 

The warrior broke the quiet so suddenly both his guests jumped a little. 'Danarius.' 

'What?' Anders frowned. He took a step away from Fenris, disguising it as indifference and a move to soak the rag again. 'Wait. You aren't questioning my diagnosis?' 

The Tevinter narrowed his eyes. ' _Are_ you lying to me?' 

Slowly Anders shook his head. 

'Then I stick to my earlier reasoning. This is Danarius trying to slow me down; keep me in one place, weak enough to kill or capture.' 

Since Hawke still seemed to be lost to his own thoughts, Anders passed Fenris the wet cloth and then his attire once more. The elf gently wiped the sweat from his skin, noticeably slowing as his hand passed over the front of his torso. Anders looked away, feeling a twinge of spite quicken within him. 

'And you don't want to ask how this could be possible?' 

'Magic,' the elf returned, his deep voice oozing with disdain, 'what else?' 

Anders nodded gently. As Fenris began to dress Hawke seemed to thaw. When the shirt passed over his head, Hawke's eyes roamed the warrior's stomach. For now it was still taught, it still retained its lithe muscles and unwavering lyrium vines. But soon Hawke knew it would soften and gain a gentle roundness, slowly growing larger by the day. He couldn't even hazard a guess at what sort of magics Danarius had used, though he guessed blood magic wouldn't be too far of a stretch. Still, he and Fenris had been together only weeks before, and knowing how Fenris had reacted to their love-making - not to mention how long it had taken to court him - Hawke doubted he had been with another since. Was it too much for him to hope the babe growing within the elf was his? 

The thought of Fenris carrying _his_ child brought a dopey grin to Hawke's face. The elf did not miss it. 

'Hawke,' he ventured carefully, 'what are you thinking?' 

The mage reached over and touched his knee gently. 'Honestly, whatever messed up magic caused this... Well, you know, we...' He took a breath, finding that for once words did not come easily to him. 'I'm hoping the fact we were _together_ recently means I'm the father.' 

Before Fenris could begin to respond, a heavy sigh drew green and amber eyes to the healer. 'You are.' 

White lyrium shone an angry blue light as the warrior gave him a harsh look. 'What would you know of this magic?' 

Anders perched himself on the shabby bench by the fire, his back to it so he could still see the other two as he spoke to them. Such a position cast his face into shadow, something that made the hairs on the back of Hawke's neck stand on end. It seemed an age before Anders drew in breath to begin his story, too long for Fenris who was about to grab him by his robes and demand the truth. But Hawke's hand on his knee held him back, the soft swirling motion of the mage's thumb against his kneecap. Gently the lyrium's glow dimmed. 

'I'm not sure where to start.' Anders started, folding his hands delicately on his lap. 'Needless to say I'll start with my reason. It should be abundantly clear by now that I am in love with Hawke.' 

'Regrettably.' The elf growled. 

From the look of pure hatred he received, Anders quickly realised word of his kiss had reached the elf's pointed ear. _Ah, I should have known Hawke wouldn't hide things from him._

'However,' he pressed on, 'it became clear that no matter what I did, I would never be noticed as a romantic possibility. Well, a few months ago I came across a spell one I hoped to amend in order to... live with this revelation. It is coined "The Dark Ritual", and allows the mage who performs it to conceive a child with their partner, even if one of them is a Grey Warden. Since it only works on women, I manipulated the spell; took it to pieces and altered it so it would work on a man.' 

Both Hawke and Fenris physically paled. 

'Anders, that's a risky spell,' Hawke scowled, 'and it's dangerously close to blood magic.' 

'It's more like sex magic.' The healer's face turned away from them. A petulant motion even if they couldn't read his face in the shadows. 'And forgive me for not receiving a free mage's education in wilder magics.' 

Hawke sighed and shook his head. 'I've only heard about similar spells in passing when father warned Bethany and I of older kinds of magic and even then he didn't really know much about it.' 

'Well I was careful.' Anders continued. 'I knew exactly what I was doing, and had every possible consequence mapped out.' He paused and sighed. 'Except one. In crafting the spell, the woman has to imagine the specific man she wishes to impregnate her. Doing so applies a strong fertility charm on him, so he can father a child with _any_ woman, even a barren one if he were so inclined. The spell is usually performed right then and there in the bedroom before the consummation takes place; I had to be a little more risky in my application and hope I could convince you to let me into your bed before another got there first.' He motioned limply to Fenris. 'Evidently I failed in this endeavour.' 

'Let me get this straight.' Hawke held up his hands and knitted his brow in concentration. 'You realised that you couldn't get me, so you tried to seduce me and use dark ancient magics to bear my child, but I ended up sleeping with Fenris, and so he got pregnant instead of you?' 

'That is the sum of it.' Anders nodded despairingly. He then looked to Fenris. The Tevinter couldn't see his eyes, but the mage's voice held some strain of begging to it. 'Fenris, look I know you didn't ask for this, and you can believe me when I say this is not what I intended to happen. But I have to ask - no - beg this of you. If you intend to be rid of the child, bear it to term and then give it to me instead. I would leave Kirkwall and neither of you would ever have to see me-' 

'Get out.' 

The voice was barely audible, yet it carried through the room like a clap of thunder. The Anderfel stopped in his tracks and then clasped his hands together, almost as if in prayer. 

'Please, Fenris, it's all I ask o-' 

'I said, "get out".' Again, the elf's volume was low but his words were the cracking of a whip. 

Hawke suppressed a shiver. In truth, Fenris' anger scared him above all others'. For when Fenris was irritated he would shout or wave his arms a touch, but when he was truly, uncontrollably furious his near silence was more than torture. The darker mage looked across and motioned with his head to the door. Anders took the hint and left, as quickly as he could without tripping over the hem of his robes. He had well and truly burnt his bridges. There was no way in the Maker's green realm that Fenris would listen to his pleas or even ask for his help now. Anders had dared to cast a spell on Hawke, the one thing the elf prized above all else, and by consequence of this the magic had meddled with Fenris' own physiology. He knew then and there that there was almost a minus of a chance that the elf would ever forgive him, and with that came the fact he would have no say on the fate of the unborn child. Anders gripped his staff tightly as he walked back to the depths of Darktown. Though on some level it bothered him that the baby would be half of its "mother", Anders still found himself wanting Hawke's child. Finally closing the door of the clinic behind himself, his gaze found the young woman whose child he had delivered only the night before. 

_Please Fenris... For once listen to me..._

###### 

Hawke watched Fenris carefully. He hadn't said anything in the fifteen minutes since Anders had departed, but the mage knew it would only be a matter of moments before the elf revealed his thoughts. So patiently he sat on the edge of the bed and watched as the Tevinter paced back and forth in front of him. Hawke took this moment to allow his own mind to settle and collect itself. So, if what Anders had said was true - and he reasoned it most likely was - then Fenris was now about six weeks along. Curiously he eyed the elf's front. He knew it was too early for any signs of growth, after all he had seen Fenris' unclothed form only moments before and nothing had been out of the ordinary, but some small daft part of him wondered if now the veil of mystery was lifted he would spot any sign of their child. He did not, for Fenris' shirt was too loose and the baby still too small. Still he liked to think on it. 

'How dare he.' 

Hawke's gaze snapped up. The elf had turned to face him now, green eyes smouldering with the volume of rage his voice gracefully hid. It seemed he was finally ready to talk. The apostate took a deep breath, ready to either take the tirade that was coming or soothe the elf. 

_Most likely both_ , he reasoned. 

Fenris repeated his statement twice more, and turned to face the fire; his arms were folded round him, to hug his chest Hawke assumed. 'He has no right to say anything, not after what he's done. And then to-' He gave an irritated grunt, unable to continue. 

'Ease, love.' Hawke went to stand and walk over, but Fenris turned sharply. 

The expression on his face tore Hawke's heart in two. It was the second time he had seen the warrior so broken; those emeralds glistening as tears welled, threatening to burst forth; his down-turned lips twitching at the edges as his chest worked at holding back sobs. As he took in the wretched elf, feeling more and more helpless, Hawke realised Fenris was not holding himself. Rather the Tevinter had cupped his hands together over his lower stomach, as if trying to protect their child from the hurt he felt. 

Without a second thought, Hawke was gathering his lover into his arms. It was there Fenris sobbed; weeping as he had the past half a dozen weeks in fear of Hawke's hatred. 

'I'm sorry he did this to you.' The mage whispered softly against the elf's snowy hair. 

He was surprised when the elf looked up at him, tears held for a moment. 'Is it strange for me to say that I am not?' 

Hawke reached up to stroke one of Fenris' ears tenderly, smiling as his thumb traced its slender length and the elf hummed in contentment. The mage felt his heart thump against his chest when the other's hands clutched the material at the back of his robes. 'Explain, love.' 

Fenris reopened his eyes at this and then sought to look everywhere but Hawke's face. 'It is true I am not happy that magic has once again been used on me without consent.' He sighed and rested his cheek against the warm cloth over Hawke's heart. 'However, this time I cannot be unhappy with its outcome. A slave never dreams of having a family, they only receive the right to "breed" when their master permits it, and all couples are chosen by said owner. I truly mean when I say "I am yours", Hawke; but, as men, love can only go so far. Now,' his hands once again fell in place between them, laying on his stomach as his forest-green eyes swelled with warmth, 'however damnable magic may be, I have been granted the chance to have a family with the man I chose to be with.' His eyes darkened. 'If that abomination thinks I will give that up for the sake of being petty, he believes far worse of me than I had thought possible. _Fasta vass!_ Even if I did not want the child, I have fought for my life, for my freedom. I would not take it from someone who has yet to draw breath.' 

Hawke nodded gently, taking the moment to rest his brow against the top of the elf's head. Unlike Anders, he hadn't been folly enough to believe Fenris would instantly want rid of the child. Fenris understood the value of life in all things, he knew what it was to be shackled in cells and beaten until he had no words of opposition left. Yet even still the Tevinter had clung to life. 

"To kill oneself is a sin in the eyes of the Maker." 

Hadn't Fenris said that? Hawke tried to drag up the memory. It had been during one of Fenris and Anders' less volatile discussions; a simple questioning of whether suicide was less painful than what they had been put through. Though the healer had commented he had tried the option at least once, the warrior responded that he put his courage in the Maker, and in doing so had to obey the Maker's solemn laws. The thought made Hawke wonder if Fenris was taking this so well because he believed the Maker gifted mages with magic, and so it was through Anders that the Maker had granted them a child. He shook his head a little to clear the dust. He was getting too stuck on the religious implications of such thinking. It wasn't like Fenris was carrying the Maker's child and Anders some kind of angelic messenger. 

That was an image that would haunt Hawke for the rest of the week. Fenris knelt in prayer before a winged Anders, his belly heavily rounded as the Maker's light shone on them both. It was in this moment that Garrett Hawke he was never going to go to the Maker's side. No, he was going to burn in the Fade for his blasphemous mind. 

Fenris, however, was thinking not of their god nor even of the mage who had upset him only minutes before. For the elf new worries had settled in. From what he had seen briefly pregnancy only got worse from the first moment onwards. The elf was no healer and so he couldn't be certain exactly what to expect week-by-week, but he knew the basics of it. He would get sicker, and then hungrier, and his stomach would expand until none of his clothes fit and become so cumbersome he couldn't walk properly let alone lift a sword, and he would get tired and emotional and- The endless list reamed through his mind and he felt his knees go weak. At that instant Fenris was more than glad that the mage seemed to have a strong hold on him. 

If he was honest with himself, yes Fenris was more than comfortable with carrying Hawke's child; he would even willingly use the word "elated". But the idea of raising the child had him uncertain. Fenris knew he had had a less than ideal childhood, even if he couldn't remember it. He had only learnt of love after meeting Hawke, and even then he had managed to almost lose it because of his fear. Though he knew it was far too early for such things, his mind made it seem as though he could feel their child move beneath his palms. Tears bloomed once more. 

_I do not think I could make you happy._

'-together.' 

Fenris looked up suddenly. 'What?' 

'I said we'll do this together.' The man stooped a little so his bearded cheek scuffed against the smooth of the elf's; his lips moving gently against the shell of the long ear. 'I've seen that look before, Fen. You're not on your own in this. He's half mine, you know.' 

At this Fenris quirked an eyebrow, tears forgotten. 'You're certain it's a boy?' 

He could feel Hawke smirking. 'Hawke-family intuition.' 

Fenris pulled away a moment, standing so there was half an arm's length between them. Hawke's expression settled onto something more serious; his brow furrowed as he tried to look for explanation on the warrior's face. He moved a strand of white hair away from his eyes and looked intently to his- 

_Amatus._ His mind offered gently. 

His mouth gently perked at the edges. _Yes... My Amatus..._

'I am not often good at expressing myself in words.' He confessed, cheeks rosying a little. 'But still, to know you will stand by me and that we have a chance at something again...' 

Before he could lose his nerve, Fenris stood on tiptoe and pressed his lips firmly to Hawke's. The response was instantaneous. Hawke and Fenris melded together like they'd never been apart. All thoughts of holding back were lost as they kissed till they were out of breath, fingers knotted in hair and lips swollen. The apostate was ever aware of the desire creeping in. The notion to push the Tevinter onto the bed and make love till the sun rose once again ignited like a fireball in his stomach. Fenris was no fool, he could feel the urges practically rolling from Hawke. Gazing up, eyes half-lidded, the elf knew he desired the man. He longed to feel his touch, to savour his kisses and wash away the regret of his leaving the first time. He wanted to wake in Hawke's arms, press his lips against his eyelids and then smirk in delight as the mage rolled him onto his back, leaving butterfly kisses down his neck. But Hawke was still holding back. There was worry in his expression, a gentle creasing of his brow as he tried to read Fenris' reactions, to see if he was taking it too fast again. 

Realising he would have to reassure him, Fenris stood on point once more; lips caressing rounded ear as he spoke in velvet tones. ' _Amorem erga me, Amatus._ ' 

Hawke had no idea what Fenris had said other than it sent a ripple of lust cascading through his body. Before he realised what he was doing, Hawke walked the elf backwards to the bed removing his shirt as the elf sat, then lay on his back. Tilting his head aside he gave Hawke the most sultry look the mage had ever seen; cheeks lightly dusted with blush and white locks tossed as if he had just awoken from the pleasantest of dreams. Honey-coloured eyes roamed down, following the soft skin mapped by sweet lyrium. 

' _Da mihi osculum._ ' 

Hawke needed no further instruction and took the elf's lips against his own. The next few hours they would remember for the rest of their lives. 

###### 

**TRANSLATIONS (non-canon phrases done by Google Translate, so no doubt very poorly).**

**1) _Fasta vass._ = *a curse word***

**2) _Amatus._ = Tevene word used for one's lover, literally means "Beloved" or "Darling".**

**3) _Amorem erga me, Amatus._ = Make love to me, Beloved. (Non canon).**

**4) _Da mihi osculum._ = Kiss me. (Non canon).**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah... I had to update the rating from M to E as a precautionary measure since Hawke and Fen got a little carried away there.  
> Not sure if people would class this as " too graphic" to be an M or if some think I'm being overcautious, but eh... I'll leave it there just in case.


	5. In which two weeks pass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's note:**  
>  Oh my Maker, I am SO sorry about the delay between the last chapter and this one! Life creeps up on you and before you know it... XD  
> Anyways chapters should be more frequent now (hopefully weekly), in addition to this being the final angsty one!  
> This chapter gave me some difficulty since it didn't want to be written, still I hope it turned out ok.
> 
> Please enjoy!  
> Dene ^.^

Fenris awoke without the feeling of lead in his belly and tears dried on his pillow. He thought it strange at first, but realised why this was when he tried to roll over in his small cot and found a rather large man sandwiching him against the cool stone wall. Seeing the sleeping face of Hawke Fenris relaxed, enjoying the soft grunts the mage made as he dreamed and the chill breeze coming in from the boards covering the hole in the roof. The elf nestled himself back under the covers and leaned his cheek against Hawke's bare chest. In truth he couldn't remember the last time he had felt this contented. _No._ He reasoned with himself. _It was that night, before I left..._ Yet in truth he could no longer allow himself to feel guilty for it. Hawke had reopened his heart to him, and this time Fenris knew he was not going to let the mage go. 

The peace was shattered by a sudden roiling in his gut. One hand clamped over his mouth, Fenris scrambled to climb over Hawke and get out of the room before he ruined the sheets or had to mop the floor for the second time that week. Doing so was a lot more difficult than the elf anticipated. Hawke was a rather large obstacle to clamber past and the sheets getting tangled round his legs were not helping matters. In the unexpected commotion Hawke's eyes shot open. 

'Fen? Fen, what's wrong? Are you in pain?' His questions so quick they practically ran into a single garbled word. 

The Tevinter could not reply. Instead he dumbly motioned for the apostate to get out of his way, which after a long second of realisation Hawke did. He didn't make the sink. Fenris ended up emptying his stomach into an old half-broken urn by the door. Palms flat against the wall, he gasped and tried to regulate his breathing. Paused. Then bent his neck and brought up another wave of acidic mess. Warm arms came about him gently, one hand holding back the longer tresses of his fine hair whilst the other rubbed soothing circles over his spasming front. When at last the heat within him cooled to a dull ache Fenris turned. Hawke looked down to him, taking in the pitiful expression; the elf was tired, covered in a thin film of cold sweat and visibly wincing. Without a word he gathered him up into his arms and tucked him back into bed. 

Fenris seemed to come round again as Hawke was pulling on his smalls and breeches. 

'Where are you going, _Amatus_?' His voice was hoarse, rasping at the end of his words causing him to swallow tentatively as if he was eating glass. 

Still Hawke could not suppress the burning coil of joy within him when Fenris called him by that name. During their nightly activities Hawke had asked Fenris what it had meant, only to have the elf whisper in Tevene against his skin, pressing hot kisses to each inch of his lower face and neck. Again Hawke had understand absolutely nothing of what the elf had said, but the look from those hooded emerald eyes and the sound of his honeyed tone had told the mage everything he had needed to know. 

'To wash out that pot.' He thumbed over to it, and Fenris' gaze slipped to the side as he frowned slightly. 'I'll be back in a moment. I just think it's a good idea to keep it near the bed... for the future.' 

Gently Fenris nodded, allowing him to claim the filthy thing and exit the room holding it at arms' length. The ache in his lower gut was beginning to fade, though he wished it would settle sooner. The feeling of lying there as if he'd been kicked was not one Fenris longed to experience. No, he had had that sensation more than enough in the brief lifetime he could remember. Yet still... Tentatively he lowered the sheets, letting them pool around his hips. This time the cause was not his master's boot, it wasn't from the fist of some other slave envious of his position or a slaver's cudgel. The warrior almost jumped at the feeling of his own cool fingers coming to rest on the warm skin of his stomach. Inwardly he chided himself for being so foolish, but soon lost himself to new thoughts as his thumbs rubbed gently at the space below his navel. 

No, this time the pain was a worthwhile ache. It meant more than a punishment for defiance or that he was the only thing around for Hadriana to take her anger out on. Though it hadn't been by his design, beneath his hands a life was growing, small and innocent. A life he and Hawke had made and shaped with their love. In the dim quietness of his room, Fenris found himself feeling suddenly fiercely protective once more. His hands cupped the softening skin and he stared intently at them as if he could peer through to the sleeping child within him. 

_You are my child and no one will hurt you. I will keep you safe from any who dare try. You will never feel the pain I have been dealt, or the prejudice your father has known. If I am a wild dog, as the mage says, I will use tooth and claw to defend my pup._

Some part of him knew it was foolish to make such a declaration. Their child would be a halfling, born of a rich human apostate and a poor elven ex-slave. Even if Hawke could stay clear of the Templars, even if Danarius never came to claim his "pet" once more, or if their child never once showed a hint of magic in its veins, life was not going to be easy. Fenris refused to think of the fact that he would one day have to explain to the child why it had two fathers yet was biologically from both of them. 

_Well it all began with a foolish mage named Anders who had a ridiculously unshakable interest in your father..._

He grimaced but the expression soon softened. Such meanderings led from harsher thoughts to more idyllic daydreams. Resting back on the pillows now, Fenris' musings took a different shape; still himself and his child sat talking but this time of other things. Happier things, like what Hawke would cook for dinner or whether Orana would play the lute again for them. In his mind's eye he could see the toddler perched on his knee and smiling happily, dark locks framing a cherubim face with forest-green eyes shining. Lazily he wondered whether the dream-Hawke was out on another foolish quest or busy bustling around the kitchen. Either way he guessed the mage would be making a fair amount of noise and flinging at least a couple spells every which way. 

'Maker's breath, you're beautiful.' 

Fenris looked up to see Hawke in the doorway. The sight of him half dressed and with a look of pure desire on his face made the elf shiver a little. For Hawke the picture of Fenris wrapped only in his sheets and lyrium glowing softly was almost too much to bear. He placed the pot by the foot of the bed on his way over, in case it fell from his loosening grasp. Wordlessly he slipped into the bed and held Fenris against himself, one arm around his shoulders and the other softly caressing his hair. He vaguely wondered if there was a possibility of continuing where they had left off the night before, but when he glanced down he saw the elf was dozing fitfully in his arms. 

Hawke smiled to himself and rested his cheek atop Fenris' head, allowing himself to inscribe this moment permanently to his memory. 

###### 

It was almost two weeks later before Hawke finally managed to get Fenris to leave the mansion. The first week and a half had admittedly been his own fault as much as his lover's. After being so tentative for their first three years and then practically coming close to losing what they had built, the pair were delighting in playing as if on honeymoon. The elf and mage spent their days learning new things of each other, eating almost lavish meals and simply contenting with lying in one another's arms. At night they would give themselves over to their more base desires. However it became more than a heated fumbling in the dark as they came to know one another. Their movements blossomed into a dance, sweet and sensual and deriving nothing but love and pleasure from each other. In the mornings where Fenris did not feel ill, Hawke would awaken to a freshly stoked fire, and the gentle sounds of the elf strumming a lute as he sang tenderly beneath his breath. 

As Fenris neared the end of his second month his sickness appeared to ease. Something which pleased the elf and soothed Hawke's nerves. This brought about the second reason for Fenris' delayed leaving. Namely that he didn't want to reveal his pregnancy to anyone else. It wasn't that the Tevinter was embarrassed; he was proud to carry Hawke's child and he knew very well that currently he wasn't showing, but that was besides the point. It was more that Fenris was unsure how others would react to the news. Most of Hawke's group wouldn't care. They would be surprised, certainly, but none would judge him. After all even if Sebastian refused to accept it, he could not deny that Fenris hadn't directly asked for such a thing, and if everything was done by the Maker's design then this too must have been His work. 

The Templars were what worried Fenris. Once he considered them knights who protected the people of Kirkwall from the rebel mages, and even saved the wilder mages from themselves. But as soon as his pregnancy would begin to show, the Templars would question how a male elf was with child. They would certainly lock him away and likely kill the child once it was born, claiming it was an abomination. And there was no doubt they would execute Hawke, declaring him guilty of blood magic or some other fabricated mage crime. Fenris knew they wouldn't be able to hide it from them. After all, Cullen and Meredith knew them by name and face. Even if he dared to masquerade as a woman, he doubted a wig and dress would be such a disguise the Order would overlook his lyrium markings. 

Though he accepted these were reasonable worries, Hawke argued that it wasn't healthy for Fenris to stay shut away and that at least until his fourth month he should be able to continue as normal. Begrudgingly Fenris had agreed that the point made sense. And that brought them to the final issue. 

Anders. 

Even a fortnight had yet to calm the elf's temper with regards to the healer. Hawke was angry too, but over the days it had cooled into a gruff acceptance since Fenris appeared unharmed and the spell was giving them what they had both secretly always wanted. Fenris, on the other hand, seemed to be willing to keep the grudge going forever. At first - since Fenris was fine with carrying the child - Hawke assumed it to simply be a continuation of their usual squabbles, fuelled by Fenris' changing emotional levels and Anders' reluctance to drop the "crush" he had on him. It was after he broached the conversation on the twelfth day of their seclusion that he discovered why Fenris was truly continuing his plight. 

  


Hawke had awoken after another of their love-making sessions to find Fenris laying on the bench by the fire, his lower half wrapped in a fresh sheet, and tracing his fingers along the lyrium on his front. The serene image brought a smile to the mage's face. He watched Fenris for several minutes, unsure if the elf had realised he had stirred. If he had, Fenris showed no signs of caring that he had been caught during his musings and continued his actions. 

'Love, I know you don't want to,' Hawke tested gently, 'but you really do need to go see Anders.' 

The elf's gaze was frosty when it met his own. He didn't turn his head. He simply stilled his hand and looked from the corner of his eye, a motion which told Hawke he was treading dangerously. 

'I do not.' Was the reply. 

'I'm not on about a social visit.' The mage sat up, pushing some of his longer hair from his eyes. 'Fen, he was the one who crafted this spell, he's the only one who knows how it's supposed to work and how it'll affect you.' 

At this Fenris frowned. 'I am not a healer, Hawke, but I am aware my stomach will grow, then at full term the child will be born. I aided at least three births in the slave quarters of Danarius' manor, delivering my own will be nothing new.' 

'Yeah but what if there's complications?' The mage's expression grew doubly serious. 'Fen, we don't even know _how_ you're supposed to give birth.' 

All potential arguments died on the elf's tongue. He looked away, his expression softening under the weight of fear and concern. 'I assume since it somehow crafted me a womb, the same could be said for a birthing passage.' 

'We can't rely on guesswork.' Hawke pressed gingerly. 'Fen, mother nearly died giving birth to the twins and she's a woman, built for these things.' 

Slowly long fingers traced the swirls at his hips, following as they flicked and scrawled over the sides of his stomach. He lay staring at the ceiling. 'I shall consider it.' 

'This isn't just about the magic with Anders though, is it?' 

Fenris sat up at this, looking to Hawke. His face was a carefully painted mask, but the mage could feel the anger broiling behind it, the flames lapping up to slowly crack the veneer. 

'No.' 

Hawke mimicked him, hanging his legs off the side of the bed. 'Talk to me, love.' 

Fenris' hands stilled once more, this time falling into place by resting over his lower stomach. 'You remember the mage beseeched me to keep the child?' Hawke nodded slowly. 'This still angers me. That he thought I would end a life for my own preference disgusts me. Regardless of how it was made, this is still our child. I would not give it up for all the years of freedom you could grant me.' 

At this the warrior turned his face away, looking into the fire and breathing heavily. Against the crackles of the flames Hawke swore he could hear him mumbling in Tevinter, a sort of chant to calm his nerves. He had heard it a few times during their many fights both in and outside of the city walls. 

'Fen, there's still more isn't there?' 

A deep intake of breath and then a coarse whisper, one which shook his voice. 'He wants our child.' 

_Ah there's the root of the matter._

Hawke scratched his beard and frowned. He couldn't deny that that was a valid fear. If Anders had been rash enough to meddle with magics unknown, conjure spirits and cast this upon another person - a man whom he claimed he loved - Anders stealing the baby once it was born wasn't a stretch. True the child would be half Fenris', but it would also be half his and that was what Anders had wanted. The dark-haired mage grunted and leaned his chin on his fist. The matter was now more complicated than it ever had been, he realised. They needed Anders to ensure Fenris survived the ordeal and that the child was healthy, but this put great risk on them having to trust Anders. Hawke thought on each moment he'd had to do so and his scowl deepened. In battle Anders was a sound healer and the first to rush to his friends' aid. But back in Kirkwall he proved unreliable at best; always secreted away with the Mage Rebellion, or more recently trying to get between himself and Fenris. Simply put, the mage could not be deemed faithful to their friendship. Without him, however, Fenris and the child were likely to die. 

Such helplessness boiled up within Hawke that he felt the urge to lash out. Without thinking he flicked his hand sending a fireball coursing through the air, and sizzling against the bare bricks of the back wall. Fenris leapt a foot in the air and backed away to the fireplace, gripping the white linen tight to his chest. His handsome face contorted, pointed ears lowering. 

' _Venhedis!_ What was that for?' 

Hawke clenched his fist, dissipating the fire, and looked to Fenris. 'For as strong as I am, for all the power my family name now grants me, for all the wealth I now possess, there is no way I can protect you both.’ His scowl softened and one hand came up to rest on his brow. ‘I hate feeling so helpless, Fen. I don’t know enough to help you, so I have to leave you to Anders’ care. But the situation isn’t that easy. Anders has feelings for me and he wants our child. Since he was crazy enough to try the spell in the first place I don't doubt kidnapping would be on his mind. But without his help you’ll both possibly die and I can’t risk that. I can’t… I can’t lose you again.’ 

Feeling suddenly tired Hawke lay back across the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He watched as sunlight filtered in, sending down dust like minute snowflakes. The sheets still smelt of Fenris and it soothed him a little. How carefree they had been but a few hours earlier. Now the room felt cold and damp, tainted once more by fear and trepidation. 

‘There’s only so much I can do to protect you both from him.’ He continued weakly, his throat growing craggy from the onset of sorrow. ‘Should it come to it I could fight Anders and Justice to the best of my ability, but if you or the child were to be caught in the crossfire, I would never forgive myself.’ 

The bed dipped and he looked to see Fenris had come to lay beside him. Resting on his side, the elf stroked his cheek and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. 

‘ _Amatus_ , I am a warrior in my own right.’ Green eyes were soft again, his anger abated. ‘What you say is true; I need Anders’ help, and we must be vigilant of more malfeasance. I would be a liar to say I am not frightened of his magic or of Justice, but of you, Hawke,’ he turned the mage’s face towards him, ‘of you I never fear.’ 

It was then that Hawke cried. Holding the Tevinter close to him, he wept into snow-coloured locks and left salted kisses over every inch of his face and ears. Fenris didn’t seem to mind. He merely trailed his slender fingers up and down Hawke’s arms and shoulders, playing with the black tufts at the nape of his neck. Eventually the man soothed, and the elf’s pointed ears picked up on the sound of gentle snores. From the corner of his eye Fenris glanced at the basket of apples on the far table. Then he looked to Hawke once more. With a sigh he resigned himself to eat later, when he didn’t have a sleeping human pinning him to the mattress. 

_Pity. I'd been looking forward to them._

Nestling further down the bed so he could tuck himself against Hawke’s chest, Fenris gave a contented sigh. In truth it felt better now he had spoken his mind. Words could not erase his worries, but at least now he and Hawke were on the same page. Together they could get through this, he was certain. Of Anders’ future plots, he was not. Still for the moment it was only he and the mage and their little babe growing within him. The next hurdle would be giving the news to their friends, and hoping they would take it well. As soon as Fenris’ eyes slid shut, they opened suddenly in horror. 

What were they going to tell Hawke’s mother?

###### 

**TRANSLATIONS (non-canon phrases done by Google Translate, so no doubt very poorly).**  
**1) _Amatus._ = Tevene word used for one's lover, literally means "Beloved" or "Darling".**  
**2) _Venhedis._ = Tevene curse word, meaning unknown.**


	6. In which a promise is kept

When morning came Fenris was grateful Hawke had slept against the wall. Careful so as not to wake the sleeping mage, he slipped from under his arm and padded quietly across the room towards the door. For a second he paused, considering the dark oak staff leaning against the table. Hawke had seen to modify the thing with leather thongs, fur, crystals and the odd marbled feather; the end of the rod now bearing a whittled piece of Tal Vashoth horn as a blade. Fenris swore if he looked close enough he could see runes carved into the grip, though what such markings meant he could only guess at. After all he was still learning Fereldan script, runic would be a stretch too far at the moment. He reached out a hand tentatively and closed his grip around the wood. The first time he had done this he had expected it to burn him. If not for a reaction to his lyrium markings, then for touching something that did not belong to him. For touching something that belonged to a mage. But the staff did nothing but weigh heavily in his palm, and Fenris walked with it through into the main hall. 

Still the thing troubled him. Since he could remember mages had owned him, oppressed him, beat him within an inch of his life and used him as their weapon. Staves were their invention; something to harness their magic, focus it and make it ever more powerful. 

_As the markings are to me._ He crossed the landing to the left, heading for the washroom. 

Hawke would never use this weapon against him. The apostate had sworn to use it to protect him, to shield him from harm and enhance his abilities on the battlefield. He had done so many times already, even when they had known each other only minutes as they fought their way through Danarius' leaving presents. For this reason Fenris could abide to touch it, because it was Hawke's and Hawke was good. Yet he would be a liar to dismiss the unease that curled in his belly when he did so. Ingrained fear or prejudice he could not say. Perhaps it was both. Either way he took the damned thing with him and closed the bathroom door behind himself. 

It took half an hour to heat the water and make a pleasantly warm bath. Shedding his clothes Fenris allowed himself to sink into the copper tub and give a sigh of contentment. As he lay soaking the elf considered all that must be done that day. It was the second since he and Hawke had come to an agreement on his leaving the mansion, and so - by his solemn promise - he was to attempt an outing to the market. For the past two weeks Hawke had been the one to fetch their food. He reported he had not spoken to anyone save the merchants, and so no one had any idea of his current predicament. Although Hawke had mentioned the apple seller was wondering if he had "gotten his woman in the family way" with the amount he was buying. 

With a small snort of irritation Fenris sat up and grabbed a red fruit from the bowl he kept by the bath for such an occasion. As he repositioned himself comfortably once more, he allowed a small groan of relief. 

_No one knows but one day they will have to. They will understand, but explaining is..._ He bit into the fresh skin, letting sweet cream-coloured flesh rest on his tongue. A swallow. _Difficult._

Fenris could guess how each would react as he and Hawke explained themselves, referencing to the blonde mage sulking in the corner. But afterwards how would life be? He was pregnant and should be careful for their child's sake, he knew this. Carrying a child was a delicate process, possibly even more so for himself since it was so unusual. Yet the warrior couldn't find it in himself to sit still; to wait day after day in the mansion, twiddling his thumbs as Hawke and crew charged over the Sundermount and into the Bone Pit and all over Kirkwall facing Maker knew what troubles and dangers. 

The elf grunted and went to take another bite, stopping in surprise when he noted he'd eaten the whole thing without realising it. He tossed the core aside and began the next one. 

And what after the child was born? Was he to stay at home and care for it whilst its father continued his work? It was not that Fenris begrudged the idea. The thought of spending every waking moment with their child filled his heart with a warmth he could not have imagined. The chill was instead formed by the nightmare that woke him in the middle of the night covered in icy sweat. The terror that one day Hawke would be without him, and Fenris would not be there to jump in the way of a foul blade. 

Without Hawke he couldn't possibly raise the child. He was broken and unstable. Fenris had no memories of childhood, no inklings on how a child should be brought up, how a parent should act. He feared he would treat the child harshly with too much protectiveness, or give them too much freedom so that one day the child would come to harm. If the babe possessed magic, what then? He would have to protect it from the Templars, meaning Kirkwall would be unsafe. He'd have to move, to constantly be on the run from the Order and then if Danarius- 

The apple fell to the floor, a single bite marring its surface. 

'Fen? Can I come in, love?' A small knock followed the voice to which the door then opened. Hawke entered fully dressed, and knelt beside the tub. He picked up the fruit and took a bite himself before moving to hand it over. 'Here you go, butterfingers.' 

Numbly Fenris took it back. 'Hawke?' 

'Yeah?' 

'Promise me you won't die.' In a sudden movement he reached over to cup the man's cheek in his free hand. Water trickled down his wrist and filled the space with the sounds of droplets. 'I can't bear the thought of living without you.' 

Hawke smiled gently. Reflected in the elf's eyes Hawke could see the panic and fear. For the moment it was ingrained within him, deep as his lyrium. It would take time for Fenris to come to terms with everything properly, and even then the Tevinter would have flashes of panic every so often. But to be this way, Hawke knew, was natural. How many times had he himself lain awake at night, wondering how he could keep them both safe? If he would make a good father? 

Fenris' hand slipped to his shoulder and Hawke felt the fingers grip a little tighter. 

'I don't make that promise unless you do.' 

Green eyes now clear as glass, the elf brought both arms around the mage's neck, soaking his front. 'Nothing is going to keep me from you.' 

As their lips came together, Fenris poured every ounce of his fear and need and self-loathing into it. And Hawke needed no words. He knew. He had always known. As the mage's fingers wove into frost-coloured hair he gave back admiration, love and affirmation; everything he knew Fenris needed and deserved.

  


He was dressed as he normally was when outside the mansion, but his belt was worn a tentative notch looser. Though he wore his sword on his back and walked a pace behind Hawke as he had every day, Fenris felt as though every eye was upon him. He felt as if he were back in Minrathous, with each Tevinter gaze roaming over his white lines. The envy and desire, the hatred and scorn pouring from each gaze as he passed by. When he was Danarius' slave he ignored those glances, stood tall - not too tall, Danarius hadn't liked that - walked with the confidence that came from being such a highly prized _incaensor_. It sickened him to remember how proud he had been before he knew of the cruelties, before his eyes had been opened. And now, now Fenris tried his best to hide from every face turned his way. Though they showed nothing more than the friendly smiles of fishwives and the grumpy scowl of a belligerent merchant, he averted his gaze and kept his eyes firmly fixed to the heels of Hawke's boots. 

It wasn't that Fenris believed the people of Kirkwall would stare at him. He _knew_ people stared. Who wouldn't when such a sight passed by? But most by now were accustomed to his appearance and hardly anyone commented upon it when he frequented their taverns and shops. No it was because of Anders' spell, again because of what a mage had done to him that he felt so tentative. In his mind's eye he imagined those welcoming faces twisted into ones of disgust, confusion at such aberration. He knew such notions were foolish. After all his stomach still lay flat and it was not as if people knew he and Hawke had even been together.

His step faltered. 

_Do people know?_

He looked up and stared intently at the back of Hawke's head, trying to read the mage's mind. During the six weeks after their "special night" - as Hawke named it - it was entirely possible the man had told his comrades about it. Whether seeking advice, drowning his sorrows or ranting in vain it was entirely all too possible that Kirkwall knew. A hot blush rose to elven cheeks when he thought of such a thing. Then he chided himself and the pinkened tinge faded. 

_I am not a woman. No one will even suggest I am pregnant._

As they descended the final course of stairs, Hawke glanced back and gave a jovial smile. 'Fen, your arms.' 

The elf furrowed his brow, wondering what in Thedas the mage was talking about. Then he looked down and quickly removed his arms to by his sides. Hugging his stomach and circling a thumb over his side was definitely not something he normally did. He snorted low, irritated, and Hawke's smile grew a little. Together they finished their walk and began to wander the many stalls, getting lost amidst the sights and sounds of a market day in full swing. They were as Fenris remembered them. The perfume of fresh bread and freshly woven fabric irrevocably intertwined with the stench of horses and gutted fish. The hollers of the merchants as the air punctuated with the shouts of children, the bray of the mules and thumping of pots and crates being unloaded. The occasional clatter of once-comforting Templar armour squeezing amongst the throng. 

They paused by a jeweller's store as Hawke claimed to be picking something up for his mother. The Tevinter found himself trying desperately to erase the smell of freshly dead cod from his nostrils from the next stall over. It was a bad enough smell before he was carrying Hawke's child. Now the odour was twice as potent and was in danger of bringing his breakfast up to meet the outside again. Gauntleted hand resting carefully across his mouth, Fenris leaned on the edge of the table and tried to focus on his feet. He traced the lyrium swirls with his eyes, up and down, back round again up to his toes to a set of boots facing him and towards his ankles again. 

Slowly he looked up and met the smirking gaze of a woman who knew she was too beautiful. She gave him a little mock salute before folding her arms and pushing her breasts well into view. Fenris groaned inwardly and looked to the sky. He wished Isabela would drop her fascination with him, it was getting almost as bad as Anders with Hawke. But the pirate queen insisted that once she had her eye on a mark, she kept going till she got it. 

_Let her try in vain forever then._

'Ahoy there lovebirds.' She purred; Hawke joining Fenris now he'd finished his shopping. 'Where have you two been?' Fenris was surprised to see it was indeed possible for her smirk to grow wider. 'Oh wait, don't tell me. I can guess.' 

As she waggled her eyebrows Hawke laughed. 'Izzy, I told you don't talk like that around-' 

'So you did tell someone.' The elf glanced up to the mage and scowled. His mood was definitely not improving. 

Before Hawke could try to save himself, the pirate intervened. 'Relax Fenris. We all saw you too mooning over one another for _months_. It was only a matter of time. And it wasn't Hawke's fault he blabbed. I plied him with a keg to get some answers for all his moping. Besides, even if I hadn't, what else was I to gather from you two being all "nicey nice" before you go missing, and when Hawke eventually goes to check on you he vanishes for half a moon?' She shrugged and then her grin returned. 'I know what _I'd_ be doing with you in your mansion for a fortnight.' 

Fenris rolled his eyes but was at least appeased with the answer. Hawke meanwhile was making silent prayers to the Maker for Isabela's sudden honesty. 

She stayed with them a while as Hawke bought potions and sundries, and Fenris purchased himself a large basket of apples and a new whetstone. An hour later the trio made their way towards the Chantry steps, heading for Hawke's abode. As they stood outside Isabela produced a bottle of pilfered wine and offered it to the elf. 

'Here. To say I'm sorry for the whole "getting Hawke drunk and asking about your scandalous sex life".' 

Fenris chose to ignore the latter part and merely shook his head. 'No thank you.' 

'Okay, something isn't right here.' Her delicate lips pursed. 'Fenris the drunken elf is not snapping my hand off for a bottle of _vintage_ Nevarran Avilo?' 

'I have cut down. I heard it is bad for your health.' He pointed a sharp steel finger at her, eyes narrowed. 'And I am not a drunkard.' 

Hawke looked down at Fenris, knowing that he could feel his gaze. Darting around the issue and hiding it from their friends was not what he had promised Hawke. Though Hawke knew how concerned Fenris was with their child's safety, he also knew that keeping things bottled up between the two of them was dangerous. What would Isabela say if, months from now, she barged into the mansion on a whim and found Fenris round with child? She would be hurt and offended that they hadn't told her, and then most likely keep bothering Fenris if she could touch his stomach... No Isabela was a bad example, but others may have taken more issue that they weren't informed of the situation. Aveline would certainly be angry that she wasn't being given the proper reason for her constantly being pulled from her work since they'd be a warrior short. 

'Fenris,' Hawke sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder, 'don't avoid it.' 

The Tevinter looked to him sharply but the defensive expression quickly softened to one of embarrassment. 'Not here, Hawke.' 

Isabela looked from one to the other, tilting her head to one side and frowning more intently. 'Gentlemen, if one of you would be so kind as to tell me what the flames is going on, I'd be delighted.' 

'Go.' Fenris looked to her, meeting her squarely in the eye. Isabela flinched at the harshness in his glare. 'Get the others and bring them here; Varric, Sebastian, everyone. Anders included. The quicker you are, the sooner you will know.' 

' _You_ want to see _Anders_?' She raised an eyebrow at this. 

The elf growled low. 'You are delaying yourself, Isabela.' 

Isabela's eyes widened as she realised this and she smiled. 'Ah yes, of course. I'll be back before you can say "Dwarves hump nugs".' 

They watched her race across the cobbles towards the Lowtown stairs, not a sound passing between them. He waited until she was definitely gone before Fenris gave out a sigh and softened. Hawke shifted his satchel a little and placed his arm gently around the elf's waist. Together they made their way inside his home. It had not been part of the promise that Fenris would visit his homestead, more an instinctual pattern. Before Fenris had locked himself away, this was how things had always been. They would go shopping, return to Hawke's and then Hawke would begin the reading lessons, which would dissolve more into kissing lessons when he accidentally breathed too close to the elf's face, or Fenris' hand would brush against his on a page. 

Coming down from his room Hawke found Fenris had already tucked himself away in the library. His armour lay on one chair, neatly folded and placed, and the warrior himself was sat in little more than his leather tunic and leggings. The fire crackled happily in the hearth, and gave the room a warm glow even in the middle of the day. As Hawke neared he saw Fenris wore a look of complete concentration, a hand slipped into the leather of his tunic and roaming gently around. The elf startled when he saw a shadow descend over him. 

' _Kaffas_. Hawke I thought you were an assassin.' 

The mage knelt before him, resting his arms lazily on the other's knees. 'Oh you could try to pull my heart out, but you'd find nothing there.' 

At this Fenris quirked his brow. 'Why is that?' 

Hawke smirked. 'Cause I already gave it to you.' 

Playfully the warrior batted at the side of Hawke's head, but then sank back into the chair and resumed his previous line of thinking. The apostate was content to watch as the elf lost himself to his thoughts. Hawke didn't need to ask what he was doing. He had caught the elf several times twisting himself gently before a mirror, or with a hand nestled under his shirt. 

'It's too early for that, you know.' 

Fenris' eyes opened and he looked down to Hawke; a glimmer of something tender in his gaze. 'I know. But I find myself... impatient.' 

Before Hawke could inquire further the peace was shattered by a loud bang; the front door bouncing off the entrance wall. It was followed by the shuffles of boots, chainmail and bare feet, the deafening cacophony of muttering, grumbles and a loud sing-song voice. 

'Fenris I got them!' 

Said elf now looked like a cat who had been soaked in water. Or so Hawke inwardly chuckled to himself. Hackles raised and then slowly lowered, Fenris buttoned the two open clasps on his tunic and took a deep breath. 

'We're in the library.' He replied at a more reasonable volume. 

Hawke got up and sat himself in another chair. He was moderately surprised to find Fenris too moved, deciding to perch himself on the arm with one leg neatly crossed over the other. Hands placed on his knees it took everything in the elf not to defensively shy away or cradle his front as their friends entered. Particularly when a certain blonde mage stepped over the threshold. Everyone was a little worse for wear, they noted. Each of their comrades soaked a little by a newly fallen rain. Merrill and Isabela were the only two who hadn't seemed to mind it. Everyone else looked irritated that they'd been dragged from their warm, dry hideaways. 

'Alright Broody,' Varric sighed as he sank into the back of the plush couch, 'you'd better have a good reason for dragging me away from my writing. I was just getting to the good part; Bianca and I were firing bolts into some Qunari backsides.' 

'Believe, Varric, when I say you will find this-' He looked to Hawke, unsure. 

'Interesting?' The dark-haired mage offered, to which Fenris slowly nodded. 

He took a deep breath before continuing. Daring himself, he considered every pair of eyes. At once their irritation seemed to melt, fizzling out into their usual jovial yet alert states. Beside him Hawke placed a large warm hand on his hip. These were his friends. They had fought by his side, and on more than one occasion they had near died for each other. He could see Isabela smirking as blood ran from the corner of her perfect mouth, Merrill looking to him with wide eyes and he dove before her allowing his blade to counter another. He and Aveline back to back as slavers encircled them, and Sebastian and Varric saving them both with a volley of bolts and arrows. These men and women were as close to family as Fenris had ever had. If they could not accept him and his child it would crush him, but if they did want them? Another deep breath came as Fenris steeled himself. He had to take that risk. 

'As you all know I have been gone these two months, choosing to seclude myself after- after I faltered.' Aveline looked as if she were about to say something, but Hawke held aloft his other hand to stop her. 'I grew weaker, more so than from personal neglect. By the time Hawke came to me I was barely capable of standing.' 

Slowly Isabela leaned forward, her eyebrows knitted in concentration. Sebastian and Aveline hovered by the door, concern etched upon their faces. Merrill lay on her front, staring up at Fenris as a curious child might, her large green eyes wide and pointed ears perked as she wrestled with her own impatience. Anders was on the edge of his seat beside Varric, waiting on every word as his hands wrung upon his lap. 

'Not knowing what to do, Hawke sought Anders.' The elf motioned to the healer. 'He diagnosed my condition.' 

Merrill gave a soft gasp, hands suddenly clasping her mouth. 'Fenris, you're not going to die, are you? He's not, is he Anders?' 

Anders looked to her and shook his head slowly. For but a moment he met Fenris' eyes before dropping to look at his hands once more. 

'No.' _I can say this. It is just three words._ Hawke's hand squeezed his hip gently, giving him the courage to continue. 'I am pregnant.' 

Silence echoed round the room. Mentally Fenris counted the seconds as not one of them even dared to breathe. Each moment dragged out into an aeon. The look on each face was careful. Not disgusted, Fenris was relieved to see, but simply trying to fit the pieces together. 

Aveline placed her head in her hand. A headache was coming. Of all, perhaps save Hawke, she knew the elf's temperament best. Fenris did not joke about these kinds of things. Which meant he wasn't lying, and that somehow some dangerous magic was involved. _Why does this always happen in Kirkwall? Why not in Denerim or Cumberland? Why is it always my city?_ From the expression Fenris gave she gathered the elf had not volunteered for the position of becoming a mother, which meant that the magic had been done against his will. Her Captain's mind began to turn now. _It must have been his old master..._ If only she could remember his name. 

Sebastian's mouth drew tight, as if the entire joke made him feel incredibly uncomfortable. He saw no issue in Fenris and Hawke being together, he was after all a believer in love in all its forms. But for Fenris, a male, to be pregnant? The Maker had designed men and women each for their own roles, and one such was that man would provide the children and woman would carry them. He had never heard of such solid laws being overturned. _Surely such is blasphemy and the committer a sinner._ Yet Sebastian couldn't bring himself to think such a thing of Fenris. But if Fenris had not committed this sin unto himself, then it was that he was being punished. _No, Fenris is faithful._ They had long talked of the Maker and His world. He knew the elf prayed every week at the Chantry altar. Sebastian had seen him tucked away in some dark corner, praying to the Maker for his continued freedom, for his friends' safety, in thanks for Hawke's love. Through all his torture the elf had never attempted on his own life, he had bore all the Maker sought to deliver him and wore it as defiantly as he did the lyrium scars. After all this, why would the Maker punish one of His most devout? 

_Perhaps He is not punishing him._ Came a gentle offering. _What if instead Fenris is the Maker's blessed one? The one He has allowed to evade His rules as boon for his loyalty?_

Sebastian watched as Fenris shifted uneasily, disliking the silence. Slowly his gaze drifted down to the elf's middle, where beneath the leather tunic the Brother supposed the child must be sleeping. Subconsciously the ginger's lips curled gently at the ends. 

Isabela and Varric glanced at one another and slapped hands over their mouths to keep from laughing. To them it seemed Fenris had finally got the stick out of his ass and had learned to have a sense of humour. It was a good gag. The Tevinter carrying a child was about as likely as Isabela herself. Mentally the pirate erased that thought. She did _love_ to love, and if it weren't for the potions Anders gave her then it was entirely likely she would be carrying her own. Still it was funny the image of Fenris brooding in a heavy armchair, his tunic open since it could no longer fit around the swell of his belly... The Rivaini felt herself blushing and looked away from him to consider her own wanderings. It made it worse. Now all she wanted to do was push Hawke aside and caress the elf's stomach. 

It was Merrill who Anders kept locked in his sight. The elven mage was the only one who could be his undoing. She was the only other who could possibly know of the spell he had cast. After all, Anders was fairly certain the original spell had come from an ancient _Elvhen_ grimoire. If Fenris and Hawke chose not to out him, then Merrill could. And though her gaze was blank as a sheet of new parchment, the ex-Circle mage was not completely convinced she was as innocent or unknowing as they all believed. 

'W-what?' Merrill's soft voice shattered the silence, prompting Varric to finally fall into pleats of laughter, slapping his knees. 'Fenris, _ir abelas_ but males cannot carry children.' 

'Ordinarily, yes.' He nodded. 'However a spell was cast that has enabled me to bear children, at least this once.' His green eyes darkened and found Anders. The apostate flinched. It appeared he was not going to be getting away unscathed. 'Explain, _mage_.' 

The laughter stopped as suddenly as it began. All turned to Anders, and the blonde wriggled in his seat. 

'You're serious.' Varric looked from Fenris to Hawke to Anders. Seeing no cracks of joviality about them the dwarf gaped. 'Andraste's flaming tits... You're serious?' 

'He is.' Anders said quietly to the rug. 'I-I cast a spell, one of my own design. It bestows upon the target the ability to impregnate the next person he sleeps with, woman or man, and is so powerful it guarantees conception; even if both parties are cursed with the taint or one is barren.' 

'Blondie,' Varric ventured carefully, 'please tell me you were doing this spell for someone else and it messed up.' 

He didn't raise his head. 'I cast it intentionally upon Hawke, with the aim of conceiving his child. I tried to persuade Hawke to spend the night with me. He refused and, not knowing of the spell, later slept with Fenris. The magic took effect and now Fenris is carrying Hawke's child.' 

'Flames take you.' Sebastian snorted, his blue eyes aflame with icy fury. 'You dared to use magic for such a thing? Anders you have meddled with the Maker's holy design and sought to covet Hawke in order to achieve your goals. You are wicked, mage. The Maker will see to it that you are punished for your transgressions.' 

'Do not spout lectures on the Maker to me.' Anders stood, hands balled into fists. At once his anger ignited the passion of Justice, blue cracks of light tearing through his skin as his eyes burned with a menacing glow. 'Before you "found the Maker", you were in the bed of a different woman every night. You drank and gambled and whored your way through Starkhaven. The little Prince that no one knew what to do with. You are no saint compared to me. 

'I have spent my entire life beaten down upon by those who claimed they were of the Maker. All my life I have desired to be loved and to share my everything with the person I love. I desired to craft something from it, to hold that love in my arms and cradle it, and to know _I_ made it. Your Maker gave me magic, Sebastian. He gave me the ability to love and wrought the flames of longing into my heart. You say I meddled with His design, but it was He who intended me to be as I am.' 

With that the Brother shut his mouth. He could not refute it. The only way he managed to quell the fire within him was to agree that this was still by the Maker's design. He had given Anders to power to create Fenris' child. The babe was of His design, it was still His gift. Under his breath Sebastian gave silent prayer to the Maker, asking forgiveness for doubting His workings. 

'Magic is supposed to be for the good of everyone.' Merrill whispered sadly. 'It should never be used on a person without their consent unless they do harm to others. You tried to force Hawke, and that isn't love. _Fen'Harel ma ghilana_.' 

Anders sank to his seat once more. Tears of self-pity and anguish rolled down his stubble-strewn cheeks, washing away the azure light. 'I know. I just hoped that since I couldn't have Hawke I-' 

'Regardless of the mage's motives or the question of the Maker's influence,' Fenris' voice brought their attention back to himself once more, 'Hawke and I take no issue with the outcome. I intend to carry our child to term and afterwards we will raise it together.' 

At this Anders did stare at Fenris. Mouth opened wide it dared to turn up at the ends. A hopeful smile. 'Does that mean-' 

The elf frowned. 'Though we are thankful for the opportunity to have a child, I still do not trust you. However I will allow you will act as my healer for the time being.' 

Anders stood once more and then walked over to the chair were Fenris sat. Slowly he sank onto his knees and bowed his head. 'Thank you.' 

'If you do anything to upset Fenris,' Hawke warned, his voice low and protective, 'or to hurt him or the child, or try _anything_ with me again, you will no longer have only the Templars to worry about.' 

The mage nodded and then returned to his seat. 

At this, Fenris was relieved as the atmosphere seemed to lighten. Aveline and Sebastian came away from the door, choosing to drag chairs over from the back wall, and Varric began twittering on about how this would make a fantastic edition to _Tale of the Champion_ , to which Fenris instantly shot the idea down. Still, the dwarf supposed that what the elf didn't know wouldn't hurt him. 

Hawke was happy to sit back and listen as Merrill began to flood Fenris with questions, and Isabela and Sebastian seemed to watch the warrior with great interest. _That I will need to keep an eye on._ It was relaxing to know that everything had gone exactly as he thought it would. That Fenris was still accepted by their friends, and that he now had not two people, but seven watching over him. If he was honest with himself, it made Hawke feel a lot better knowing there would always be someone to watch over the elf. There was no doubt that Fenris was capable of looking after himself, when he actually tried, but should he grow sickly again or Danarius rear his head then it was more practical a rogue or warrior or mage would be sat at his love's bedside when he could not. 

As Aveline began to argue with Isabela that she shouldn't nag Fenris so much to show his stomach, the warrior turned his head and glanced down to his _Amatus_. Green eyes were warm, and a tender smile was playing at his lips. Hawke couldn't help but feel a heavy blush rise to his cheeks. Fenris, he thought, had never looked so happy and such an idea made his own heart warm. 

'I love you, Fen.' He said, reaching to stroke the elf's cheek. 

Fenris' smile swelled and a pink tone bloomed across his slender nose. 'I am yours.' 

At this both dwarf and pirate made vomiting noises, and Aveline smacked them both over the back of their heads. 

###### 

**TRANSLATIONS (non-canon phrases done by Google Translate, so no doubt very poorly).**

**1) _Incaensor._ = Tevene word for a dangerous magical substance. It can also be used in derogatory slang as a word for a magic-using slave.**

**2) _Kaffas._ = Tevene curse, translates to "Shit".**

**3) _Elvhen._ = Elven work for their race, literally means "Our People".**

**4) _Ir abelas._ = "I am sorry", Elvish.**

**5) _Fen'Harel ma ghilana._ = Elvish idiom, literally "The Dread Wolf guides you". Inferred meaning is that someone is making a mistake/bad choices.**

**6) _Amatus._ = Tevene word used for one's lover, literally means "Beloved" or "Darling".**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! Please remember to leave a comment or kudos as it really helps keep me motivated! ^.^


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